Tag: France

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Finished in Europe (For Now)

It was hard to believe there were two weeks left before our campervanning adventure in Europe would be over. Our ferry crossing to the UK was booked and our plans for the UK leg of our tour were falling into place, and they didn’t include the campervan. Being a left-hand drive and quite large we decided a while ago that we would part company with the van on our return to England and continue by car.

We still had a couple of places on our “to-see” list on the continent; the first being Luxembourg and the other, Passchendaele in Belgium where Andrew’s grandfather had fought in WWI, and we wanted to swing back into Germany to see my Aunt and Uncle again as well. So, with mixed emotions we headed into our final two weeks.

Luxembourg

After a lovely afternoon touring the Pommery Champagne house in Reims we left France, driving into Belgium and across to Luxembourg. It was quite exciting as we were adding another country to the list – Luxembourg is the 28th country we have visited on our European tour. We’re counting Sardinia and Sicily as separate countries because they’re across the water from Italy and, particularly in the case of Sardinia, are quite different from the mainland.

Since leaving Paris that morning the weather had improved markedly, and it was a warm clear evening when we arrived. That was the start of a lovely spate of weather that lasted almost the entire two weeks.

Our campsite was in the outlying suburbs of Luxembourg City next to the Alzette River. It was a lovely location and one of the better campsites we’d stayed at.

Luxembourg is great for cycling and the next morning we biked along a picturesque path that followed the river for 10kms into the old part of the city. Runners and cyclists were out in force, making the most of the great weather.

Our first impressions of Luxembourg were of a very clean, green and prosperous place. It’s a small country in area and the population is also small – just under 600,000 people live in the world’s last remaining grand duchy, 110,000 of whom live in the capital. In case you’re wondering, a grand duchy is a where the official head of state or ruler is a monarch bearing the title of grand duke or grand duchess.

We found a place to leave our bikes and took the elevator up to La Haute Ville, “the upper town”, sitting at the top of the cliff. Luxembourg is a pretty city with picturesque squares, quaint back alleys, buildings that look like they are straight from a storybook, majestic boulevards and beautifully manicured parks. Having been in existence for over a thousand years it is steeped in history with many beautiful historic buildings from across the centuries, but it is very much a thriving modern city; the cars are flashy, the shops are luxurious and the populous are well dressed and ooze affluence. This isn’t surprising given it is home of many EU government institutions including the Court of Justice and the European Investment Bank.

The geography of the city is quite remarkable. It sits on the top of steep gorges cut out by the Alzette and Pétrusse rivers with bridges connecting the town across the ravines. It is this natural protection that proved ideal for building further fortifications – the first built in 963. Over the following centuries these mighty fortifications were fought over and became the stronghold of whichever army occupied the area and was vying for military control over Western Europe. Once stretching over 180 hectares the fortifications were finally demolished in the late 19th century to prevent any further conflict and today only the Bock Casements remain. It is now considered one of the most important fortified sites in Europe and is classified as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. You can take a tour through the vast complex of underground tunnels below the fortifications, but we opted to stay above ground and walk across the fortress to admire the view back to La Haute Ville.

Not far from the fortifications is Le Chemin de La Ccorniche, a viewing platform often called Europe’s most beautiful balcony. From here you can appreciate the magnificence of the fortifications built in the cliffside and look over the valley to the charming riverside Grund district below, with its picturesque church and quaint medieval houses.

It’s not a big city and is easy to explore on foot. After a full day out, we wandered down the hill, found our bikes and pedalled along the leafy trail back to the campsite.

Back to Germany

The sky was sparkling blue and the countryside a vivid green as we drove from Luxembourg through to Germany and along the Moselle River. This is a beautiful part of Germany. We’d been there seven months earlier when my Aunt took us for day trip to Trier and we drove back along the valley through the wineries, but with the weather the way it was we couldn’t resist stopping and spending some more time there. We ended up staying two nights in the Moselle Valley, camping right beside the river. It is stunningly picturesque, with charming half-timbered German villages dotted along the river and vineyards running up the steep sides of the valley, interspersed with a patchwork of woodland. There are bike paths all along the valley and we cycled from one village to the next, stopping for a few wine tastings at the roadside stalls. It was the first time in a while that we’d had lovely summery weather and no pressure to rush around seeing the tourist sites. We were relaxed and content.

Friday was another glorious day and, feeling sun-kissed and refreshed, we headed through to Wahlrod where my Aunt Margaret and Uncle George live. We’d spent a week here in September when we three months into our tour and we loved it – not only for the generous hospitality and great company of our hosts but also the beautiful countryside and surrounds, which we were very much looking forward to seeing in spring. After a harsh winter nature was in overdrive and Margaret’s garden was no exception. It was stunning; in full bloom with and abundance of white flowers and green foliage. The huge cherry tree in the centre of the lawn was heavy with white blossom, and with the white tulips below, the daphne and white rhododendron, combined for a soft, peaceful, spring feel. Being so warm we were able to spend plenty of time sitting outside under the cherry tree enjoying the garden and the birdsong.

However, relaxing was not our priority when we arrived. Our first task was to list the van on UK Autotrader. This was easier said than done. We found out that you need a UK IP address and a UK credit card to submit an ad. I have no idea why this is, maybe to stop “foreigners” selling vehicles in the UK. We panicked. We had a week before we were back in England and needed the van listed so ideally it would sell quickly after our arrival. A delay of a week would upset our plans. Then Andrew had the bright idea of asking his cousin Mark to help. I set the ad up ready to go and Mark obligingly logged into our account from the UK and pressed submit. Within a few hours we had our first enquiry.

The next week was spent getting the van serviced, cleaning it inside and out, and sorting all the “stuff” we’d accumulated in preparation for downsizing for the next leg of our journey. It wasn’t all work, there was time for other activities to, like getting me a much-needed haircut and colour, going for long walks through the beautiful countryside, playing the odd game of scrabble and rummy, and practising tent pitching on the lawn. We are planning on doing some camping in the UK and had bought a tent in France so tried it out in the garden. It took three of us quite a bit of time to work out the instructions and put it together, but we finally managed to create something that looked quite liveable. We’re not sure how much use it’ll get, that will depend on the fickle English summer.

Almost a week had passed and with only a few days left in Europe we said goodbye and with a lot less in the boot headed off in our sparkling clean van.

Campsite on the Moselle River
Traben-Trarbach on the Moselle
Cycling the Moselle
Practising camping in Margaret & George’s garden

The Last Post

After a full day of driving we arrived in Ypres (Leper as it’s known in Belgium). Ypres is at the heart of an area that saw some of the biggest battles in the First World War and as it is 100 years since the end of the war we wanted to visit and pay our respects to the many commonwealth soldiers that fought and died there.

The campsite was full. This was only the third time this had happened to us in almost a year on the road. Ypres is a popular place to visit. We were directed to a nearby “Aire” specifically for motorhomes. It had electricity, but not any facilities so our intention of staying two nights was quickly amended.

We biked the short distance into the centre of Ypres and wandered around this picturesque town. Ypres was mostly destroyed in the war and was eventually fully rebuilt, including the historic Cloth Hall and Cathedral. Standing in the town it is hard to believe that most buildings are at most 80 or so years old. The tourist shops were full of WWI memorabilia, craft beer and chocolates, and paper poppies on sticks. We bought two poppies for our visit to the war graves the next day.

It was time for one of those famous Belgian beers. We found a nice Belgian beer house that overlooked the square and tried a local brew.

One of the most important sites in Ypres is the Menin Gate, one of the Memorials to the Missing. It lists the names of 54,332 men who fell in the Ypres Salient and who have no known grave. The names represent the fallen of Britain, Ireland, and what were then the Dominions (apart from New Zealand) up until 16th August 1917. Those with no known grave after that date are recorded at Tyne Cot (including all New Zealanders). As well as a place to visit in its own right, every night at 8pm, the Last Post is played, and a small ceremony takes place at the gate. We had heard it was not to be missed and after a quick Thai dinner made our way there. We didn’t expect the crowds to be as large as they were – Andrew estimated there were well over 500 people gathered.  The traffic through the Gate was halted, the crowd was welcomed, there was a moment of silence and then the Last Post was played. It was an incredibly moving experience in a sombre setting and there was not a dry eye around.

The next day we headed to Passchendaele 13 kms away. Our first stop was the museum. Here the story of the war in the Ypres Salient is told with special emphasis on the Battle of Passchendaele in 1917, one of the bloodiest battles of the First World War. Andrew’s grandfather fought in this battle, in the Canadian Army. He was one of the lucky ones, he was injured and sent home.

The museum is an interactive experience with the exhibits helping you to understand what it was like for those fighting on the Western Front. Inside steps took us down into a 6-metre deep reconstruction of a battlefield dugout, complete with headquarters, accommodation, workshop, communication room and first aid post. It was amazing how complex these areas were. Outside are a network of reconstructed trenches, made to look and feel exactly as they would have during the war. Walking through them it’s impossible not to think of the gunfire, the fear, and the smell. The museum was very well done, not glorifying or embellishing, but instead letting those that were there tell their story. It’s a sad story, but one that needs to be told.

Our next stop was the Tyne Cot Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery and Memorial to the Missing, not far from Passchendaele. This is the largest cemetery for Commonwealth forces in the world, for any war. Here there were lots of unnamed New Zealand graves. Lost sons and brothers lying forever in a foreign land. We left a poppy in remembrance.

We left Belgium and drove on to Dunkirk for our last night on the continent, and the last night sleeping in our campervan. The campsite in Dunkirk was right on the beach. We joined the many others and went for an evening walk along the promenade, past the restaurants and bars and brightly coloured retro changing sheds. All along this lively promenade are information boards telling the story of another war. It was from this beach in late May 1940 that around 338,000 British, French and Belgian soldiers were rescued from the hands of the German army and evacuated across the channel. Hundreds of civilians sailed across from England to help with the rescue. Private yachts, motor launches, lifeboats, paddle steamers and barges joined the effort, all the while under attack from German aircraft. Many lost their lives. But, if those troops weren’t rescued the Allies would not have had the manpower and strength to turn around and face the Germans again, and eventually defeat them, and we may not have been enjoying the warm evening on this calm and peaceful beach

The day had arrived. It was time to catch the ferry to Dover. We were both quiet driving to the port, both reflecting on the 11 months that had passed since we’d been on the ferry going the other way, from Dover to Calais. Back then we didn’t know what to expect – would we even be able to live in such a small area for a month, let alone 11?  We could, we did, and we loved every minute! What an adventure it’s been. We’ve got many more adventures to come before we head home to New Zealand, but we were still feeling a bit sad and a bit sentimental that those adventures will be without our beloved campervan.

The security guard at the ferry terminal got us laughing again. He was a big, handsome, hunk of a Frenchman and after doing the mandatory search of our camper, turned with a beaming smile and declared: “No Taliban in here!”

Ypres
Last Post ceremony, Ypres
Tyne Cot Cemetery
Graves of un-named New Zealand soldiers
Dunkirk Beach

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Paris in Springtime

We arrived in Paris late on Thursday afternoon and settled into our campsite by the River Seine. It was a lovely setting amongst leafy trees with an abundance of birds busying themselves with spring activities. Across the road was a golf course and a large woodland park area and not far away was the famous Longchamp Racecourse. It was hard to believe we were only just over 5 kilometres from central Paris. This was our base for the next four nights as we explored Paris and its surrounds. We have both been to Paris before, Andrew a few times and me only once, and to be honest my impression of Paris from the one visit was not positive so I was hoping this visit would change my mind.

Day 1: Paris on Foot

If you look at a map of Paris the central area is a big circle with a ring road running around the outside separating the inner and outer suburbs. The Metro lines run to the edge of this circle and from there other forms of public transport, trains, buses and trams, take over to service the outer suburbs. Our campsite offered a shuttle bus service to the nearest Metro station at Porte Maillot which we took the next morning. Once we were there we made the snap decision not to take a Metro but instead to walk. Walking is a great way to get your bearings in a city and you see much more than you do popping up at one metro station and then popping up at another.

The Arc de Triomphe was only 1km from Porte Maillot and was therefore the obvious first destination. This magnificent arch was commissioned by Napoleon to honour his victorious army. Unfortunately, the project ran over budget and over time and Napoleon was long dead by time it was completed. It is now an iconic landmark in Paris and very popular with tourists. There was a queue when we arrived, but it moved fast, and it didn’t take long before we were climbing the stairs to the top. The Arc de Triomphe is in the centre of Charles de Gaulle Place, a busy roundabout from which 12 symmetrical avenues radiate outwards from like spokes in a wheel, the most famous being the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. It was mesmerizing watching the cars whizz around below us and the buzz of activity in the avenues beyond. It is a great vantage point to appreciate this city and get the lay of the land.

From the Arc de Triomphe we walked down Champs-Élysées, the trees lining the avenue were just coming out in leaf. Past the Jardins des Champs-Élysées filled with spring bulbs, and through Place de la Concorde with the impressive gold-topped Egyptian Obelisk and the ornately carved Fontaine des Mers and Fontaine des Fleuves. Tuileries Garden was awash with spring colour and filled with people enjoying the sunshine. Chairs were scattered around the ponds and we sat awhile, people and duck watching. A bit further on, just before we got to the Louvre, is the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel topped with four bronze horses pulling a chariot. Not to be confused with it’s larger cousin up the road, this one was also commissioned by Napoleon but as it is a lot smaller it was finished on time and while he was still Emperor.

The arch is the gateway to the grounds of impressive Louvre museum with its iconic glass pyramid jutting up from the centre of the grand courtyard, acting as the entranceway to the museum. The Louvre is the biggest museum in the world and with a collection of over 35,000 works spread over 60,000 square metres it is said to take 100 days to see everything, if you looked at each item for 30 seconds, all day without a break. Despite both having visited before, we were lured back in. The last time I was here the queue had stretched well out into the courtyard. This time it was only about 20 deep inside the foyer. Considering 15,000 people visit each day we counted ourselves lucky. Because of the size of this museum it isn’t crowded apart from when you arrive at the most famous painting in the Louvre, Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Everyone congregates around this masterpiece, which is surprisingly small for such a big reputation. The other gathering point is in front of the armless Greek sculpture of Venus de Milo. Most of our time was spent in the “paintings section” and with 7,500 artworks in this area alone there was little energy left for many other sections: Eastern Antiquities, Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities, Egyptian Antiquities, Prints and Drawings, Decorative Arts, Sculptures, Islamic Art and so on. You can see why it would take 100 days to see it all.

Back out in the sunshine it was time to refuel with a baguette in the park. After lunch we crossed the Seine using the Pont de Arts pedestrian bridge and walked along the left bank where stalls selling vintage French Art Nouveau prints line the footpath – think Chat Noir and Moulin Rouge. The distinctive stone arches of Pont Neuf marked to beginning of Ile de la Cité, the island in the Seine where the Notre Dame Cathedral sits. We crossed Pont Neuf to the island, walked through Place Dauphine, past the city courthouse and state police station, to the Notre Dame. We were admiring the impressive façade of the cathedral and deciding whether to line up to go in when police descended on the square and quickly removed everyone from the area and closed the cathedral. It may have been an exercise, given the cathedral is directly across from the police station and they didn’t seem to be overly concerned, but we weren’t waiting around to find out and quickly crossed over to the Latin Quarter.

The Latin Quarter has been the bohemian area of Paris for centuries and got its name from the students communicating in Latin well before the French Revolution. It is a lively place filled with quirky stores, museums, eateries, bars and galleries, and is the home to France’s oldest University La Sorbonne, among other higher educational institutions. We wandered through the colourful streets soaking up the atmosphere, slowly making our way back towards the Eiffel Tower.

Our feet were starting to remind us we’d covered a lot of ground and by the time we reached the base of the tower we calculated we’d walked close to 15 kilometres. Time to stop for a while, sit on a park bench and laugh at the millennials posing like models for every photo they take.

The last time I was in Paris you could walk underneath the tower and I remembered it as being filled with hawkers and tricksters trying to wrangle money off you. Not anymore. It’s completely closed off so only people with tickets to climb the tower can enter the area through glass doors and after passing through security. But, when we were there no one was entering. The tower was closed. We thought it a bit odd and wondered if the police clearing out the Notre Dame had anything to do with it. I started imagining terrorist plots and was pretty sure I was on to something when Andrew suggested maybe we should ask one of the security guards. It was closed due to strike action.

We crossed the Seine again to the gardens in front of Palais de Chaillot where people were relaxing in the sun enjoying the views back to the tower. Up the stone steps crowds gathered to take photos with that iconic backdrop, the Eiffel Tower. We joined the throngs and asked obliging strangers to take some of us.

By now it was late afternoon and we were still a couple of kilometres from the pick-up point of the campsite shuttle. We briefly contemplated catching a Metro from Victor Hugo Place but decided we’d finish what we started, doing Paris on foot.

Arc de Triomphe
Avenue des Champs-Élysées
Tuileries Garden
Tuileries Garden
Le Louvre, Paris
Eiffel Tower Selfie

Day 2: Versailles

The next day we headed to the outskirts of Paris to visit the Palace of Versailles. The train drivers were on strike again so to get there we took a tram and then a long bus ride. Our bus, and every bus we passed, was packed with people.  The 13.5km journey took nearly an hour and a half. These rolling strikes are incredibly disruptive.

The bus stopped directly across from the Palace and we were taken aback by its grandeur, and by how many tour busses were there. As it was already afternoon and we hadn’t eaten we decided to find somewhere for lunch in the village before joining the crowds in the Palace. I had a hankering for crepes and we found a lovely creperie that served delicious savoury buckwheat crepes, more than satisfying my craving.

We walked back to the palace, through the gilded iron gates and past the heavily armed military police to the ticket office. There was a long queue in front of the ticket office window but in an adjacent room there were lots of automated ticket dispensers and no one using them. We took a look, they seemed straight forward, we purchased our tickets and were ready to go. All the while the “sheeple” in the ticket office queue had only moved one place forward. We couldn’t avoid the queue to get into the palace itself, as there were the obligatory security checks to go through, but it didn’t take long, and we were soon inside.

The Palace of Versailles was built by Louis XIII in 1623 as a hunting lodge and was enlarged into a royal palace by Louis XIV in the 1660s and 1670s. The interior of the Palace is exquisitely opulent. The walls of the Gallery of Battles are lined with impressive paintings of battle scenes depicting nearly 15 centuries of French military action – some explicitly gruesome and violent, and all with the French as victors. The palace is proudly French to the core and all the materials used in building and decorating Versailles were made in France.

The most famous room, and the one I was most looking forward to seeing, is the Hall of Mirrors, containing a total of 357 mirrors. At the time it was built Venice had a monopoly on making mirrors so Venetian artisans were lured to France. The Venetians then ordered the assassination of the mirror makers for giving their secrets away.  A dark side to a room filled with light. The same could be said of the outcome of the Treaty of Versailles that was signed in the Hall of Mirrors. Signed to end the First World War, it was meant to bring lasting peace to Europe.

Behind the Palace are beautifully manicured formal gardens containing over 400 sculptures and 1,400 fountains. You could spend hours, even days here as the actual grounds extend for more than 30,000 hectares.

We had had our fix of French nobility, it was time to return to reality.  There was still plenty of daylight when we got to the campsite, so we went biking through the woodland park to the Roland Garros tennis stadium, home to the French Open, and back past the Longchamp Racecourse, home of one of the world’s most prestigious horse races, the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe.

Hall of Mirrors
Gallery of Battles
Palace of Versailles
Versailles Gates
Homage to Napoleon

Day 3: City of Love

Our final day in Paris was our wedding anniversary and Andrew had the idea to find a street artist to do our portrait to mark the occasion. We took the shuttle back to the metro station and caught the underground to the Montmartre district which was once where all the Parisian artists lived. Andrew had seen street artists doing portraits on the hill during a previous visit. On the top of the Montmartre hill is the Basilica of Sacre-Coeur with its distinctive white domes like dollops of whipped cream. We joined the other tourists and walked through the gardens on the hillside and up the wide steps to the church, all the while looking out for a street artist at work. There was no sign of any. Where had all the artists of Montmartre gone? We admired the view across Paris from the hilltop and took a look in the beautiful church, before heading back down the other side of the hill to catch a Metro into the city centre. We had decided to try our luck finding an artist on the left bank of the Seine, near the Latin Quarter. As we’d missed out on seeing the Notre Dame Cathedral because of the police activity we took the opportunity to see it and got off at the station nearest this famous church. Intricately carved, dark, cavernous, and very Gothic – this Cathedral is incredibly impressive. But there was no sign of Quasimodo.

We finally found a portrait artist at work on the left bank of the Seine. He was in the middle of a caricature and told us he’d be at least another half hour and would be around for a couple of hours after that if the rain held off. Perfect, we could have our anniversary lunch. We found a quaint bistro in the Latin Quarter that was serving traditional French country cuisine. The waiter recommended the beef bourguignon which we washed down with a lovely Burgundy. When we emerged, it was starting to rain, and our portrait artist was just about to pack up and go home. He was more than happy to stay, found an umbrella to shelter his easel and got to work. Sitting still for such a long time tested our attention levels but it was amusing to watch the reactions from passers-by as they looked at the easel and then up to us and then back to the easel and smiled, laughed, nodded or gave a thumbs-up. An hour and a half later we had our portrait. We looked a little more serious than we might have liked, and a little cat-like, but all in all we were pleased. Happy Anniversary Mr Love!

Basilica of Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre
Notre Dame Cathedral behind the stalls on the left bank
Anniversary lunch
Sitting still
The portrait!

Day 4: Champagne

It was time to leave Paris, but not quite time to leave France. We had one more place to visit –Champagne.

As we drove out of the campsite we reflected on our time in Paris. I was underwhelmed when I visited 8 years ago, it was dirty and there were a lot of beggars and hawkers about. I wasn’t expecting much to have changed but I was proved wrong. The city was clean and vibrant and although there were still a few beggars about we weren’t hounded, and we felt safe. Paris had redeemed itself.

The city of Reims is about 150kms from Paris and is the unofficial capital of the Champagne wine-growing region, with many of the champagne houses headquartered there. We had booked an early afternoon tour of the champagne caves at Domaine Pommery as our farewell before heading out of France and in to Luxembourg. The champagne houses are very grand, sitting behind tall gates at the end of sweeping driveways, and Pommery is particularly palatial. The light blue Elizabethan-style chateau is reminiscent of a fairy-tale castle. Complete with cone-like spires it reminded me of a children’s birthday cake.

The chateau was built by Louise Pommery in the late 1800’s when she took over running the company after her husband’s death. Under Louise’s guidance the first brut champagne was invented at Pommery – before that is was a sickly-sweet drink and nothing like we know champagne today.

Underneath the chateau lies 18 kilometres of caves. Once Gallo-roman chalk mines, they were converted to champagne cellars where now over 20 million bottles of champagne are stored at a constant temperature of 10 degrees. Our tour took us down the steep steps to 30 metres underground and through the maze caves, past the many racks containing thousands of bottles of champagne fermenting to perfection. Louise Pommery was an art lover and collector and the caves feature art from her era and also contemporary installations and sculptures, making the caves of Pommery quite different to other champagne caves in Reims. The caves are all named after cities – every time a new market was established Louise named a cellar after that city.

Near the end of the tour we were shown a cellar where their premium vintages are kept. Bottles from as far back as 1904 lie in the dark waiting for the call to be brought up into the light and consumed for the small price tag of 50,000 to 120,000 Euros.

We weren’t treated to a such excess but still finished our tour with a very nice glass of Grand Cru 2000 Vintage Champagne – the perfect end to our time in France.

Pommery Champagne House, Reims
Art in the champagne caves
Very old vintage champagne
Cheers to France!
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France: Arles, Le Puy & Bourges

Before leaving Italy we took the plunge and booked our ferry crossing back to the UK. With a date now set we worked backwards to plan our last month in Europe. Paris was a must, so my job was to find a few places to visit enroute, and of course to work out how to avoid as many of those road tolls as possible. We settled on three stopovers, each for two nights. The first of these was Arles, in Provence, a 3-hour drive from our campsite on the Cote d’Azur.

Arles

Arles lies on the Rhone River and is famous for inspiring some of Van Gogh’s most celebrated paintings. He lived in Arles for over a year and painted prolifically while there. Arles is also renowned for its Roman history and its Roman ruins are World Heritage listed. It’s not a big place with a population of just over 50,000. Arles surprised us. It didn’t look like much as we cycled in from the campsite – a flat, ordinary, semi-rural town with lots of car yards, supermarkets and a MacDonald’s. But, in the very centre was a wonderfully well preserved historic town with an incredible 2-tiered Roman amphitheatre as the centrepiece. This impressive theatre is similar in style to the Colosseum in Rome and was built 2,000 years ago, holding more than 20,000 spectators. It is still used for concerts and French bullfighting, which I’m told isn’t as brutal as the Spanish version and doesn’t result in the bull being killed. The medieval town was built around the amphitheatre and the streets and buildings follow its curves, expanding out like ripples.  Next to the amphitheatre is another Roman theatre, this one built a century earlier and in the same style as Greek theatres. It is mostly in ruins and is now an archaeological museum.  A short walk away, near the banks of the Rhône River, are the Thermes de Constantin, or Roman baths dating from the 4th century. And like all Roman cities there was a Forum in Arles, though little of it remains today apart from two Corinthian columns that are now incorporated into the wall of the Hotel du Forum, where a sign saying Place du Forum marks the spot.

Where the Forum was is now a square filled with restaurants including the famous café that features in Van Gogh’s painting “Café Terrace at Night”. It is now aptly called Van Gogh Café, but is still bright yellow as it is in his painting. After taking a photo of the café we walked all through the streets of the old town trying to find the Fondation Vincent van Gogh where exhibitions of his work and of artists influenced by him are displayed. All signs seemed to point to it, but we were sent around in circles and back again. Finally, we found it, and it was closed until April 20th. Never mind, we had visited the Van Gogh gallery in Amsterdam at the start of our trip and wandering through the streets of Arles, seeing buildings and scenes he had painted was enough, and we still had one place to see – Espace Van Gogh. This was the hospital where Van Gogh had his ear stitched back on after he cut it off, and where he was later locked up after suffering a severe mental breakdown. The flower-filled courtyard is the subject of two of his paintings. It’s now an area for working artists and hosts exhibitions and workshops. We wandered around the courtyard and admired the gardens brimming with spring colour.

Van Gogh’s connection to Arles has had a lasting effect and now many artists reside here. All through the old town are galleries and artisan boutiques and browsing through them was a lovely way to spend a warm Saturday afternoon. Taken by the artistic mood of the place Andrew splashed out on a very dapper light blue panama hat.

The famous café that features in Van Gogh’s painting “Café Terrace at Night”
Espace Van Gogh, the former hospital
Remains of two Corinthian columns that are now incorporated into the wall of the Hotel du Forum
Roman amphitheatre
Monsieur Love

Le Puy

Our next stopover was Le Puy-en-Velay. This town was a bit out the way but was well worth the long slow drive through the mountains of the vast Cevennes National Park to get there.

Le Puy-en-Velay lies in a basin at an altitude of 2,000 feet, not far from the Loire River. Despite being high, the pass we drove over to get there was higher and the road into Le Puy was all downhill. As we came down the slope we looked across a wide valley where the new town sprawls and towards the old town sitting on a volcanic mound in the middle with two remarkable rocky pinnacles next to it; one with a chapel perched on the top, the other with an enormous deep-salmon coloured statue of Mary and Jesus.

Our campsite was directly below the 85-metre rock needle where St-Michel d’Aiguilhe chapel is perched and we didn’t delay in climbing to the top to see it. The labour that must have gone into building this incredible chapel is mind-blowing. Bishop of Le-Put was the guy who, back in the 10th century, pointed to the top of that sheer rock and said: “Yes, that’s the ideal place for the new church to celebrate my return from pilgrimage.” I’m sure a few people looked sideways at the suggestion, and he was probably not the most popular among those left to cart the rocks to the top. The 268 steps to get to the chapel are carved into the cliff-face, the steepness of the climb highlighted by the prominently placed defibrillator at the top. The chapel is beautiful, intimate and peaceful, and there are some impressive frescoes and lovely stained-glass windows.

We got to the bottom and the woman in the ticket office told us not to go without seeing the lentil exhibition. Le Puy-en-Velay is also famous for the green lentils grown in the area and driving through the farmland outside the town there were plenty of signs proudly promoting lentils using a carton lentil-man. This carton lentil-man reappeared in the museum to tell us about the process of growing, drying and exporting lentils. I had heard of, and eaten, Le Puy lentils but had never put any thought into where they were from. Now we know.

All through Spain, in Portugal and in southern France we have come across paths marked with the distinct yellow scallop shell, all leading to Santiago de Compostela. There are many ways there and each is an important pilgrimage route. Le Puy is the gateway to the Santiago de Compostela French Way pilgrimage trail. This is where the hardiest of the pilgrims start their journey to Santiago de Compostela – 1600 kilometres away! Le Puy is a very religiously significant place and in the centre of the historic town is the 12th-century Romanesque Notre Dame Cathedral, the starting point for the long pilgrimage path, and each morning there is a blessing for those about to set off on the journey. It’s a lovely cathedral and stands at the top of a long and broad flight of stairs. At the foot of the stairs are cafes and lace shops, another thing Le Puy is famous for.

Looking over the town from atop another rocky volcanic outcrop is that enormous statue of the Virgin Mary. This is the 132-metre high Corneille Rock and the next morning we climbed to the top to see this colossal statue of Notre-Dame-de-France up close. The 16-metre high salmon-pink statue was erected in 1860 and was made using metal obtained from hundreds of cannons that had been seized during the Crimean war. It’s hollow and there are stairs up the middle with a trap door that opens at the top and you can look out over Le Puy from the middle of Mary’s headpiece of gold stars. If you think about it too much you’d call it garish and tacky, but we decided to settle on “odd”, and leave it at that.

On our second and last evening in Le Puy we were in the van, it had finished raining heavily and the sun was trying to push through the dark clouds for one final showing before it set. Suddenly the chapel on the rock above us was bathed in sunlight, like it had been turned upside down and dipped in molten gold. I rushed outside and managed to get the photo I had been hoping for. That night there was a magnificent storm and thunder rolled around the valley non-stop.

View over Le Puy from St-Michel d’Aiguilhe chapel
16-metre statue of statue of Notre-Dame-de-France
St-Michel d’Aiguilhe chapel
St-Michel d’Aiguilhe chapel

Bourges

Our next leg on the way to Paris took us just over 300km further north to Bourges, almost exactly in the centre of France. Bourges is known for its quaint half-timbered houses and grand, Gothic-style cathedral and these were the reasons we had decided to stop here.

We arrived late in the afternoon and walked into town from the campsite. We spent an hour or so wandering around getting our bearings and admiring the exterior of the grand cathedral and the many other lovely historic buildings. Bourges was the capital of France during the time of Charles VII in the 15th century and was a prosperous and busy commercial centre. As a result, many affluent people lived here, and the elegant buildings reflect this, one of the more well-known being ornate Jacques Coeur Palace, home of a 15th-century nobleman.

The next day we visited the cathedral properly and were taken aback by the beauty of the exquisite 13th-century stained-glass windows that line the walls. It is obvious why it is a UNESCO World Heritage site.  I decided I couldn’t not climb the tower and left Andrew sitting in the sun in the square below. He’s very choosey on which towers to climb and which ones to leave to me. From above you can see how Bourges finishes abruptly and farmland begins, how flat and vast this part of France is, and the extent of agricultural production.

We wandered back down into the old part of town and admired more of those lovely half-timbered houses that are straight from the pages of a fairy tale, many now the fronts for cafes and chocolate shops.

That evening back at the campsite a Range Rover pulled in towing a very cute retro-style silver caravan. They parked right next to us and Andrew was quick to compliment them on their accommodation. They were quick to compliment Andrew on his black Steinlager T-shirt sporting a silver fern logo as they were Kiwis too, and funnily enough from Mount Maunganui. Wayne and Asa now live in France and they’d come to Bourges to pick up their brand-new caravan that day. Wayne was once the golf professional at the Mount Golf Club and it turns out Andrew and Wayne know many of the same people. We exchanged contact details and promises of a golf game when they’re back in NZ later in the year.

The next morning, we were on our way to Paris.

Half-timbered Houses, Bourges
Jacques Coeur Palace
Bourges Cathedral
Bourges
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French Riviera

We drove from Italy back into France on April 1st and spent five days exploring the beautiful Cote d’Azur before heading north. The landscape in this part of France is dramatic. Driving along the coast the snow-covered Alps rise up on the right, the deep blue Mediterranean sits calmly on the left and in between picturesque towns and villages tumble down steep coastal hills. The terrain left us with no alternative but to stay on the motorway and we were once again stung by the high French road tolls – 35 Euros to travel less than 50 kilometres.

Our base on the French Riviera, or Cote d’Azur, was a campsite in the seaside resort town of Villeneuve-Loubet. This proved to be the ideal location to explore the region. We were close to the train station and bus stops and although the rolling train driver strikes had us juggling our plans we had wonderful day trips to Nice, Cannes and Monaco, as well as spending time around Villeneuve-Loubet.

It was beautifully sunny for our first day, perfect for catching up on washing. After a morning doing “housework” we biked along the promenade, past the marina filled with expensive boats and along the lovely beachfront made even more beautiful by the backdrop of snow-dusted mountains to the Cote d’Azur Racecourse.  We’d seen posters advertising a show-jumping event there and thought we’d take a look. Biking into the racecourse we were blown away by the impressive line-up of horse trucks. There were hundreds of large, lavish transporters fitted out with living quarters that made our motorhome seem quite average, and with equally comfortable areas for the horses to travel in. The number plates were from all over Europe, including UK and Ireland. I suppose when you’re carting precious horseflesh across the continent you need to make sure they have the best. These equestrians had descended on this part of France for a 2-week festival of jumping, with 380,000 Euro in prize money up for grabs. That first day happened to be practice day but we stayed a while and admired some of the stunning horses and equally striking riders do their practise rounds. The next afternoon, after getting back from Nice, we went back and watched some of the competition rounds.

Villeneuve-Loubet
Snow-capped mountains and deep blue sea – Villeneuve-Loubet
Showjumping festival Cote d’Azur
Two of many amazing horse trucks

Nice is lovely at this time of the year. I had been before at the height of summer and it was crowded and overbearing, but on the shoulder of the season it was relaxed, and we could appreciate the elegance of this beautiful seaside city. Nice has been a magnet for the rich and influential since the 19th century and the many opulent old-world buildings transport you back to an era of extravagance. The city has many pedestrian-ways lined with high-end shops and eateries and the old town is filled with charming narrow lanes and brightly coloured buildings housing tourist shops and creperies. We walked along the wide seaside promenade, stopping to remember the awful terror attack that had taken place there less than two years ago, and then climbed the steps to Castle Hill for a beautiful view of the city, the Bay of Angels and of course, the bright blue water that gave the Cote d’Azur its name.

We had intended to go to Monaco the next day, but with the train strike still on we took the bus to Cannes instead. The home of the International Film Festival, Cannes is every bit a glamourous movie star. Like Nice, Cannes is filled with elegant 19th and early 20th century town houses, hotels and palaces in muted pastels and ivory. These grand old dames add glamour to this glitzy jewel of the French Riviera. We walked along La Croisette, the most famous boulevard in Cannes lined with plush hotels where the stars stay and ritzy cafes and bars. At the end of La Croisette is the Palais de Festivals where the International Film Festival is held every May. The red carpet is rolled out all year and a few Japanese tourists were imaging a pack of paparazzi and striking a pose. Right next door, beside the Old Port, the huge set for the TV series Ninja Warrior was standing. A few Ninjas were practicing swinging off the elaborate aluminium scaffolding. We wandered along the waterfront, stopping to admire the elegant Marie de Cannes – the town hall – and then through to the maze of charming cobbled lanes that make up Le Suquet, the old quarter. At the top of the hill a 14th century church and clock tower stand behind the Cannes golden letters. We walked up for the views back over the city and bay.

The next day the trains were running again, and we were off to Monaco, the tiny independent city-state just up the coast from Nice. In under an hour we had arrived at what must be one of the nicest train stations we’ve ever experienced. It was more like an airport terminal. Monaco is built on a steep hillside and because of this the train station has multiple levels and exits. We took a few sets of escalators and found ourselves out on a street quite high up the hill. This was great as we were walking downhill to our first destination, the tourist information centre beside the famous Monte Carlo Casino. We have both been to Monaco before and both when on bus tours, where we were only given a couple of hours to see the main sights. This time we had all day. After we got a map and were given ideas and directions by a very friendly and enthusiastic staff member we headed to the casino. Monte Carlo Casino is very grand, like a palace with an ornately carved façade and immaculate gardens. The formal garden in front was filled with bright red tulips and framed by tall palm trees. We went into the wood lined foyer and posed for photos on the staged garden swing. The doors to the Opera House, the Salon Garnier, were unexpectedly open and we took the opportunity to peek inside. It is truly magnificent – opulent and indulgent, the epitome of 19th century excess. We were lucky we had jumped at the opportunity, the security guard kindly told us we weren’t supposed to be in there and shut the doors firmly behind us. It costs 12 Euros to get into the actual casino and as we had both been in before we decided not to go any further and walked back out into the sunshine. Outside some very nice top-end cars pulled up, their occupants welcomed warmly and shown in through the private entrance. Monaco is a magnet for high-rollers.

Along a path, past some luxury boutiques and down some steps, is the Fairmont Hairpin, one of the famous corners of the Monaco Grand Prix track. It was funny to see so many people taking photos of a corner in a road, many of them clearly displaying their love of motorsport on their caps and polo shirts. Andrew tried to hide his excitement but was mighty quick to pose for a photo when I suggested it.  While we were standing there a hop-on-hop-off bus went by and we briefly toyed with the idea of getting onboard – it looked quite pleasant up there on the open top deck. We changed our minds when faced with the 24 Euro ticket price – 80 NZD for the two of us. Monaco is not that big, we were prepared to walk.  We headed off on foot down Avenue J F Kennedy towards the marina. Preparations for the Monaco Formula One Grand Prix were well underway, and the temporary grandstands were already in place along the waterfront. The cold start to the day had evaporated and we sat in the warm sunshine and enjoyed a well-deserved gelato before climbing the hill through the old city walls and into the historic quarter, home to the soft apricot-coloured Royal Palace. This is where the Prince of Monaco and the Grimaldi family have resided since the 13th century, looking over their small dominion from atop the rocky outcrop. You can’t escape the royal family in Monaco, souvenir shops are brimming with royal memorabilia and most businesses have a photo of the reigning Prince Albert and his beautiful Princess Charlene, or his late father Prince Rainier III and his glamorous mother Grace Kelly. Monaco is still very much in love with Princess Grace – photos of her are everywhere.

The narrow lanes of the old town are popular with tourists and are filled with eateries and artisan boutiques, as well as the more garish souvenir shops selling everything Formula One including F1 onesies, for adults. Away from the throng, overlooking the Med, are the peaceful terraced gardens of Saint Martin with paths lined with exotic greenery wind along the cliffs. Moored below in Port du Fontvieille are an abundance of luxury yachts, the shore surrounded by plush apartments and condos. Monaco is money.

I stopped to Google something, it opened the page and then when I tried to go further it wouldn’t. A moment later I received a text from my mobile provider saying I had a zero balance. We thought it was a bit odd, there wasn’t much of a balance on there, but there was some. It wasn’t until were waiting for the train back at the station when it occurred to me, Monaco isn’t a full member of the European Union, so the “free roaming” we enjoy across EU countries doesn’t apply. That one Google search used up all my credit on data fees.

On the way home, not long after we left Monaco, the train was boarded by heavily armed police who searched every cupboard and locker and went through every carriage. They were very polite, smiled and said “bonjour”, but all the same is was a bit disconcerting.

Back in Villeneuve-Loubet we walked around the waterfront to find a cash machine, an hour later we were finally home. Mr Love was grumbling. Time for a cold beer. My Fitbit read 24,380 steps.

The next morning we were on the road again, starting our journey north to Paris.

Monte Carlo Casino
Monte Carlo Casino
Monte Carlo Casino
First winner of the Monaco Grand Prix
Temporary grandstands ready for the Grand Prix
Prince’s Palace of Monaco
Monaco!

 

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Farewell to France; for now

Two weeks of house and pet sitting in Saint-Geniès-de-Fontedit passed in a flash. We parked the campervan when we arrived and didn’t move it again until the day we left, travelling only by bike or on foot for the duration of our stay.

Saint-Geniès-de-Fontedit is in the hinterland of Beziers, between the mountains and the sea. There are only 1500 residents, a surprising number of whom are English, including the neighbours who were very welcoming and advised us of the ins and outs of village life and which wineries had the best wine – Rosé is particularly good in this region, but the reds are nice too with delicious blends of Syrah and Grenache.  Village shopping consisted of a café, tobacco shop, a small general store, a famous pizzeria and a boulangerie (bakery), which was closed for renovations and only opened the day before we left. However, with another six villages all within 4 – 6kms from Saint Genies there were other options. The larger village of Murviel-les-Beziers had a sizeable supermarket and we cycled there a few times to stock up on supplies, once taking the opportunity to visit the village winery with cellar door sales.

All the villages in the region are of the same traditional style, built on a hill around a church and with narrow lanes circling outwards. The church in Saint Genies is a 13th century listed building of southern Gothic style with a green bell tower that acted as a great navigational tool when we were out walking and biking.

Bailey the golden Labrador kept us busy with his continuous energy and love of long walks. Every morning Bailey and I would head out for a walk, returning in time for lunch. We would walk for miles through the countryside. There are no fences and unless there’s a sign to say otherwise you are free to walk through the vineyards. There’s also the well-marked vineyards and heritage trail which circles the village and winds across the countryside for 14km. We used these tracks when we came across them but inevitably went “cross-country”.

The vineyards stretch as far as you can see in all directions. The scale of wine making in France is enormous, and being the country’s biggest earner it’s no wonder. They don’t have the same orderly vineyards that we have in NZ and Australia, there are no numbers on the rows or blocks, no grass underneath, just thick clay, and many vines aren’t even on wire frames so must all need to be hand-picked. I’m not sure how they keep track of their crops, but they are probably using traditions from centuries ago that work just fine.

Although the scenery got a bit repetitive, there was always plenty to see and explore while out walking: character-filled old stone farm buildings; the many historic wayside crosses, or calvaires; the beautiful Chapel Saint-Fulcran, an historic chapel set in a picnic area and no doubt popular for weddings over the summer; the historic stone water tower on the limestone ridge overlooking the village; and many rivers and drains for a lively lab to splash through. Bailey has a penchant for grapes and despite being post-harvest there were still bunches on some of the vines. His nose would start twitching and he’d look over to the vines we were passing and then look back at me with a mischievous grin, then make a dash for the grapes and start guzzling them down. Dogs aren’t supposed to eat grapes and luckily Bailey isn’t affected by them, but I was still determined to keep him away from them. He’s a good dog, call him and he comes. He knows he’s good, smiling and waggling and asking for a treat to thank him for his obedience. We got along just fine.

While we were out walking Andrew was busy cleaning the campervan inside and out, doing some gardening for our hosts, and strolling up to the general store to buy a fresh baguette for lunch. He also made one lone cycling trip to the supermarket when he realised the general store closed on Mondays. Andrew would join us for our evening walks when the light was gold and the vineyards glowed.

Andrew enjoyed having a full kitchen, especially an oven. We had two roasts and a couple of casseroles with jacket-baked potatoes. The produce available in France is amazing and so much cheaper than home. The selection of fruit and veges is extensive and in large supermarkets like Carrefour there are aisles and aisles of cheeses, and all so very cheap – I have to be very disciplined!

It seems that if you’re French and live in rural France you must own a small white panel van. There are hundreds of these vans. We joked that it wouldn’t be much use trying to tell the gendarmerie that you saw someone acting suspiciously in a white van. When out walking through the vineyards you see white vans dotted across the landscape. They were mostly out walking their dogs, but some were hunting. Hunting season runs from September to February and from the many shotgun shells scattered through the fields we gathered they were hunting birds or rabbits, probably the beautiful partridges that Bailey liked chasing.  On a couple of our evening walks the gun shots were unnervingly close, we wasted no time quickly turning and heading in the opposite direction, at pace.

The sun shined for most of our stay and there was only a brief shower that passed through. However, when the wind whipped up it was unrelenting, and we had a few days like this. On one of these days we had to make a trip to the supermarket so wrapped up warmly and headed off on our bikes. On the way back a phoneline had come loose and was flapping across the road. I tried to avoid it, misjudged the edge, and ended up upside down in a ditch with hands full of prickles and the first grazed knee I’ve had since a kid. My theory is that Andrew pushed me, but he denies culpability.

After almost two weeks Bailey’s owners returned, much to his delight. We hugged him goodbye, thanked his owners for sharing their home and pets with us, and hit the road again, aiming for Toulouse.

We arrived late in Toulouse and settled in for the night. The next morning it was threatening rain as we biked the 8km along the canal into town. Perhaps it was the showery cold weather, but Toulouse didn’t impress us. It was big and busy, and didn’t have the sophistication of Lyon. We walked through the Place du Capitole, past the majestic Capitole building with its characteristic pink brick façade, through the retail precinct in the old town, down to the Garonne River and across Pont Neuf, the 17th century brick bridge. It started to rain, we took shelter in a church. The rain stopped, and we walked back across the Garonne, this time taking Pont Saint Pierre, through the streets past creperies, boulangeries and hip little cafes to the Basilica of Saint-Sernin. This imposing red brick church is the largest remaining Romanesque building in Europe, if not the world. It was getting colder when we emerged from the church and we decided to call it a day. Walking back to our bikes we found a Decathlon store, the store we bought our bikes from in the UK, and couldn’t resist buying some accessories – a basket and a mobile phone bracket so we can use Google Maps while cycling.

The next day as we drove out of the city we passed the Airbus factory with a line of shiny new planes ready to be dispatched, one of which was already in JetStar livery.

We were heading to Pau via Lourdes and took the back roads to avoid those pesky tolls. “Back- roads” is probably not the best description as they are as good as State Highway 1 in NZ, they’re just not 6 lanes like the motorways are. Before leaving Toulouse, we had intended to fill up with diesel but hadn’t seen a gas station. Assuming there would be one along the way we carried on. It was raining, we were trundling along the highway, and the petrol light came on. With farmland on both sides and no gas station in sight we started to get concerned. I forcefully suggested we get off the highway, as it would surely be better to run out of gas on a sideroad rather than pay to be rescued from a highway. The next exit went to a small village, unfortunately too small to have a gas station, but big enough to have a pharmacy. I ran into the pharmacy and asked where the nearest one was, and between her stilted English and my stilted French we managed to communicate. She told us there was one in the next village, about 10 minutes further along the highway. We took the risk and thankfully we made it, albeit with higher blood pressure and frayed nerves. This was the first and last time we’ll let that happen.

It was pouring with rain and starting to get dark when we arrived in Lourdes in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains, even though it was just 4pm.  With umbrellas up and coats on we walked through the incredible, and almost deserted, Sanctuaires Notre-Dame de Lourdes. This is a significant Catholic pilgrimage site and each year millions visit the Grotto of Massabielle (Grotto of the Apparitions) where, in 1858, the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to a local woman. In the grotto, pilgrims can drink or bathe in water flowing from the spring. The few people who were there were filling bottles, we used our hands and had a good swig. Andrew had visited Lourdes before and didn’t have fond memories. He was there in summer years ago, it was crowded and hot, and hawkers were pushing plastic Jesuses. There were no plastic Jesuses when we were there, and no crowds.

It was still raining as we drove through the mountains to Pau, arriving at our campsite after dark. Pau is set along the Pyrenees mountains’ northern edge, only 85km from the Spanish border. According to the guy at the campsite, it rains there a lot.

The rain had stopped the next morning and we headed along the river into town. Oddly enough after 7km the bike path ended at a staircase up to a bridge and we had to carry our bikes up eight flights of stairs before carrying on to the town centre. Pau is an elegant town with beautiful views across the mountains from the grand Boulevard des Pyrénées. The boulevard leads up to the Château de Pau, birthplace of King Henry IV of France and Navarre. Like many European towns pedestrian-only streets make up much of the central area. There seems no issue here with being unable to park right outside a shop. Pau was getting ready for Christmas with elegant silver baubles strung across the streets and an elaborate nativity scene being erected in the square. We were both taken by this place, it was the first town in France that we could see ourselves living in. We looked in land agents’ windows and compared prices.

Sanctuaires Notre-Dame de Lourdes
Grotto of the Apparitions, Lourdes
Boulevard des Pyrénées, Pau
Pau
Capitole building, Toulouse

Biarritz was our next stop before crossing to Spain. After leaving Pau we drove through lush dairy country, not unlike New Zealand, and then, as we drove through a village, we had to look twice – there was a giant kiwifruit in the middle of a roundabout. The familiarity continued in Biarritz, where roundabouts were filled with New Zealand cabbage trees and flaxes, and surfers braved the wild surf at the sandy beach by our campsite.

Biarritz is an elegant seaside town on southwestern France’s Basque coast and has been a popular resort since European royalty began visiting in the 1800s. It’s also a major surfing destination, with long sandy beaches and surf schools. It was stormy and wet when we arrived, but we braved the elements and took a walk along the beachfront and through the seaside suburb of Milady, where our campsite was situated.

We had decided to stop in Biarritz on our way through to Spain to visit Alana, a good friend of Andrew’s daughter, her husband Tanerau, and their two boys, 5-year old Isaia and 2-year old Nikau. Tanerau plays rugby for Bayonne and they have been living in nearby Biarritz for almost two years. We met them for brunch at a funky café the morning after we arrived and quizzed them on life in France. They love Biarritz and the similarities with home aren’t lost on them. After brunch we went back to their place to see what a traditional Basque house was like. The Basque houses are white with red tiled roofs and red shutters and, as Tanerau showed us, have big basements and plenty of room. The Lattimer’s home is the perfect size for two boisterous boys, and another baby on the way.  After more coffee and a chat Tanerau drove us back to our van, he was keen to have a look, thinking a campervan holiday might be something their family would like to do. I’m not sure it was big enough for Isaia, who took great delight in telling me he was going to buy a huge cruise ship that would be much bigger than our van, but we could have a ride on it if we liked.

That afternoon we said “au revoir” to France and headed to Spain. We’ve spent more time in France than anywhere else on this trip, though we never intended to. We have loved it, and are looking forward to part two as we cross northern France on our way back to the UK next year.

Brunch with Alana & Tanerau Lattimer and their boys Isaia and Nikau
Kiwifruit in a roundabout on route to Biarritz
NZ Natives in a roundabout in Biarritz
The wild coastline of Biarritz

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Lausanne to Saint-Genies-de-Fontedit

I’m writing this blog from the tiny village of Saint-Genies -de-Fontedit in the historic Languedoc region of southern France where we are currently house and pet sitting. The relaxed pace of life in this serene part of the world has rubbed off on us and as a result I’m a bit behind with my travel updates.

Where I left off last time we were heading across the Alps after leaving Lake Orta in Italy, destined for Lausanne in Switzerland. This was to be a fleeting visit with the purpose of visiting my cousin James and his wife Irene.

The road from Italy to Lausanne took us over the Simplon pass in the Alps and provided us with some incredible scenery. Switzerland sure knows how to impress. We wound our way down into the valley along roads that seemed to defy gravity, stopping for a picnic lunch in one of the impressive road-side stops they have in Switzerland, this one was outside the town of Sion overlooking medieval terraced vineyards and a castle and came complete with a viewing tower. It was a slow journey, but we had anticipated this. We’re now used to adding 45 minutes to an hour onto the journey time suggested by Googlemaps.

Our first view of Lausanne was stretches of terraced vineyards rolling down the hills to the steely blue waters of Lake Geneva. These are the UNESCO-listed Lavaux terraces and we were to explore these during our stay.

Lausanne is the Olympic Capital; home of the International Olympic Committee. The headquarters, currently undergoing an elaborate renovation, were near our campsite. Like most Swiss campsites this one was expensive and the facilities no better than much cheaper sites in other countries. The up side was they provided us with a transport card for the duration of our stay. It’s an excellent initiative as you are inclined to go further afield than you would on bikes and by foot.

That evening, after arriving late afternoon, we walked up the road to James and Irene’s apartment for dinner. I hadn’t seen James in years and had never met Irene. They live in a great location and their lovely apartment has views of the lake, perhaps better described as glimpses. Living in Switzerland is expensive but as James and Irene told us, the wages are comparably high to counteract this. James works at Nestle in product development and Irene is a research consultant in nearby Geneva. They both love the outdoors and Irene shares James’ passion for climbing and skiing, for them Switzerland is one big playground. Andrew was intrigued to know more about the languages of Switzerland. We had already travelled through the German region of the country and now being in the French region it was so obviously different, so very French. Switzerland has four national languages: French, German, Italian and Romansh. Irene and James speak two of these; French and Italian. Irene is Italian by birth and is tri-lingual and James speaks French fluently and a smattering of Italian. English, though not an official language, is often used to bridge the divides. Irene told us there was a push to have school and university exams in English to make sure it was an even playing field as translations can be ambiguous, but this quashed. It seems the German language and culture is the dominant one. Irene pointed out that TV and radio commercials are mostly targeted to the German regions and retailers are surprised when sales are down in the French region, the cultures are so different.

After an enjoyable evening getting reacquainted with family and learning more about this somewhat mysterious little country we said our goodbyes and agreed to meet the next afternoon for a walk through the Lavaux Terraces.

We spent the next morning in the centre of Lausanne. There is no escaping hills in Lausanne and the trek from the train station to the town centre got our blood flowing. The markets were on and the town buzzing. We wandered through the cobbled streets, along Rue de Bourg with its high-end retailers to St Francois church, and then through to Place de la Palud. The market stalls were all along the streets selling fresh produce, honey, cheeses, cured meats and handmade soaps. Making us hungry it was time for lunch. We found a hip little burger joint tucked away on a terrace halfway up the stairway to the cathedral. With signs promoting the football it was obviously popular with ex-pats and, perhaps aptly, called the Great Escape. The day we walked in they happened to have the Bledisloe Cup game playing live. Despite what many people may think Mr Love barely ever watches rugby and wasn’t at all interested in seeing this match. He got more entertainment out of watching a lone Australian fan muttering to himself and giving air punches every time the Wallabies scored. Our burgers were delicious, and the chunky hand cut chips just what we needed to refuel.

Re-energised, we climbed the rest of the stairs to Lausanne Cathedral. Considered one of the most beautiful Gothic buildings in Switzerland the cathedral was consecrated in 1275. The beautiful rose window and gothic arches didn’t disappoint. After admiring the cathedral and the view over the city from outside we took the 13th century covered stairway, Escaliers du Marche, back down into town, winding past picturesque boutiques and cafes.

We met James and Irene at the train station and took the train to the Lavaux Vineyard Terraces.  Rising 1,100 feet above the lake and terraced over 40 levels these are among the steepest vineyards in the world and stretch for about 30kms along the south-facing shores of Lake Geneva. There is evidence that vines were grown here in Roman times, but the present terraces can be traced back to the 11th century, when Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries controlled the area. Much of the wine is still made using traditional techniques, with little chemical use and barely any irrigation. Picking grapes on steep hillsides requires ingenuity and here they use monorails with small tractors attached to pull the grapes up to the roads. They look like rollercoasters curling across the hills.

Walkways wind through the vineyards and along the terraces and we spent a good few hours meandering along these paths admiring the views across the hills and the charming farm houses and cute little grouping of residences, not quite large enough to be villages, dotted along the hillsides. The autumn colouring added to the magic of the place.

We headed back into Lausanne and said our final goodbyes to James and Irene.

James, Louise and Irene
UNESCO-listed Lavaux terraces
Monorail for picking grapes on the slopes
Looking across to Lausanne

The next day we were off through to Lyon. The roads that took us through the French Alps were incredible, magnificent tunnels and long sweeping viaducts making traversing these rugged mountains easy. However, it came at a cost. We were stung with a 29-euro toll at the end of it.

Our campsite in Lyon was quite far out from the city centre, as is expected in larger cities – Lyon in France’s third largest city. We arrived on a wet and cold evening, set up camp, wrapped up warmly and went for a walk. Being a Sunday the place was deserted and all shops closed, it didn’t make for an inspiring first impression.

The next morning, we were up early and off into central Lyon. The bus stop was directly outside the camping ground and after winding our way through the outer suburbs we were dropped at the train station to catch a very modern and clean train directly into the city centre. We got off at Vieux Lyon in the Old Town quarter and started the day by taking the funicular railway to the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere above the Old Town and overlooking the city. The interior of this magnificent cathedral is lined with intricate mosaics and hosts beautiful stained glass and a gilded crypt. One of the stairwells is lined with the lord’s prayer in every language of the world including our own Te Reo. Apart from being a beautiful church to visit, Notre-Dame offers stunning panoramic views across Lyon from the terrace.

We wound our way back down the hill through the rose gardens to the Old Town. Lyon’s medieval quarter is mostly a haven for tourists with plenty of traditional restaurants and gift shops lining the narrow, cobbled lanes. We had a hankering for crepes and despite probably paying too much in the Old Town indulged in the traditional fare at quaint little bistro on a cobbled square.

The pedestrian only Passerelle du Palais de Justice took us across the Saone River to the peninsula that lies between the Saone and Rhone rivers. Here there are no narrow lanes, instead it’s all 19th century elegance with French flair – grandiose buildings with magnificent facades line the wide sweeping streets, tree-lined promenades run beside the rivers, and expansive squares with majestic statues and fountains punctuate the urban landscape.

Cross the Rhone and the city changes again. Here it’s modern and chic – the new city.

Our experience in Lyon was not as relaxed as we had hoped. We had documents that we needed officially witnessed and thought we’d try our luck here. In hindsight we should have given up earlier as this exercise consumed a large portion of our day. The French police and the staff at the three courts we were sent to at opposite ends of the city could not have been more helpful and obliging, going over and above to try and assist us, despite the obvious language barrier. However, we hit a dead end at the last court when told that French officials can’t authorise documents issued by another state – we were only after an official witness stamp.

Lyon was not what we expected. We had thought of it as a stopover, another big city. But it was much more than that. Vibrant yet graceful, this city is distinctly sophisticated, and we didn’t do it justice. We would happily have stayed longer if we weren’t on a tight schedule to get to our first house-sitting assignment further south, and we may well go back next year as we make our way “home” to the UK.

The next day we were off to Provence and the city of Avignon, 230kms south of Lyon. We took the A7 and once again paid the price, being charged 32-euro in tolls. That’s an expensive piece of road. As we got closer to Avignon we started to notice the distinct change in the landscape. The rolling green fields and forests were replaced by low lying scrub, craggy clay outcrops, ochre stone buildings, and wiry grape vines planted in dry dusty plots. We were nearing the Mediterranean.

We arrived in Avignon, the ancient walled city on the banks of the Rhone River, as the sun was already dipping in the sky. The mid-afternoon autumn sunlight bathed the sienna stone buildings and the city was glowing gold.

Our campsite was across the Rhone, less than 2km from the historic centre. We wasted no time getting our bikes off the racks, the first time since Slovenia, and were soon biking back to that alluring golden city.

Avignon has huge historical significance, with Palais des Papes being one of the largest and most significant medieval gothic buildings in Europe, and is therefore a tourism hotspot, but it’s the off season, the crowds are missing, and we are getting to enjoy these places in peace.

Palais des Papes is an imposing stone palace that dominates the Avignon skyline. It was the papal residence and the seat of Western Christianity during the 14th century and proudly stands in heart of this fortress city. Inside the palace are grand chambers, chapels, deserted galleries and stoic gothic archways.

Across the square from the palace is the other famous historic monument in Avignon – Pont d’Avignon. This weathered stone bridge extends halfway across the Rhone and abruptly stops. It once did reach the other side, but repetitive floods battered it over time and it eventually lost the fight to the river in the 17th century. The remaining part of the bridge is a four-arch span that’s survived since the 14th century. The small Chapel of Saint Nicholas on the bridge’s second pier was built in the 12th century, but extensively renovated since that time. Ironically, the bridge was used to collect tolls from barges as they transported goods up and down the Rhone, tolls are not new for France.

A lot of the streets of Avignon are pedestrian only making exploring very relaxed and easy. There are lots of picturesque squares dotted throughout the old town, many with lovely old churches and always places to sit and people watch.

We spent the afternoon and early evening visiting Palais des Papes and Pont d’Avignon, and losing ourselves in the endless maze of narrow lanes, before heading back to camp for the night. The next morning, we went back for more, wandering the streets as the town came to life and stopping for a breakfast of fresh croissants in the sun.

Pont d’Avignon
Avignon
Avignon
Avignon
Palais des Papes

We took the backroads to Saint Genies de Fontedit as we had plenty of time and wanted to avoid those tolls. It’s a much nicer way to go than the motorways if you have the time. We wound our way further south, the vineyards stretching out on both sides, through small villages and then down along the Mediterranean coast before crossing back inland and finally arriving at our destination.

And now here we are in Saint-Genies-de-Fontedit, a little village plopped in the middle of thousands of acres of grapevines, with a few olive groves mingled throughout. We are looking after a very engaging and energetic golden Labrador and two beautiful cats. So far, our days have been filled with long walks across the countryside through the vineyards with Bailey the dog leading the way.  We’ll no doubt have more stories to tell at the end of our stay.

 

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Strasbourg, Basel and Bern

For the next couple of months we’ll be zig-zagging back and forth across multiple countries so I’ve decided to be a bit more disciplined and write our blog every Sunday. Sunday’s are very quiet in Europe, shops close and people rest. We’ve decided to adopt this lifestyle too and spend Sunday’s doing not much, aside from writing that is, and the odd domestic duty.

Since our last update we have spent four nights in Strasbourg, three in Basel and the last three in Bern. More than a week I know, but the new weekly blogging starts now.

Strasbourg

Visiting Strasbourg was a last-minute decision. We were originally planning to head straight to Switzerland after Germany, but when discussing our route with my Aunt and Uncle, Uncle George suggested Strasbourg was well worth a visit. We’re glad we took his advice as we loved this elegant and cultured city.

We didn’t know what to expect when we cycled out the campsite gate and off into the city. At first it didn’t look much, but Strasbourg was like opening a present, all of a sudden this postcard perfect scene appeared – the bridges and towers of Ponts Couverts with the Ill River like a mirror beneath. We left the bikes and crossed the Barrage Vauban (Vauban Damn) stopping to admire the view from the roof terrace. We were now in Petit France and had stepped into the pages of a storybook. Around each corner another magical scene appeared; gorgeous medieval houses, window boxes brimming with bright colours, arched walking bridges crossing the river that gurgled past, and under, buildings and through weirs and locks. We were smitten.

The historic centre of Strasbourg is built on the Grand Ile, an island surrounded by the Ill river on one side and a canal on the other. The entire island is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Water plays a big part in Strasbourg, the city has been built around it, over it and in it. We stopped to watch the canal boats go through the lock and decided a canal cruise might be fun. It was well priced so we booked tickets for the last day of our stay.

Being located on the eastern bank of the Rhine very close to the German border, Strasbourg and the Alsace region has bounced back and forth between French and German control over the centuries and as a result the city is influenced by the cultures of both countries, from the traditional German style timber-framed houses, to the food and drink, and even the language. As it was France we thought crepes for lunch would be nice, but they were not on the menu. Every café in Strasbourg serves the Alsatian speciality of flammkuchen. Flammkuchen is like a thin flaky pizza and the classic toppings are onions, crème fraiche and ham. We were introduced to flammkuchen as a German dish when we tried one for the first time in Hachenburg with Margaret, but evidently Alsace claims this speciality as their own, an example of the influences that make Alsace a unique part of France.

The weekend when we arrived happened to be the weekend of European Heritage Days. This is a Europe-wide initiative where every September places of cultural heritage open their doors for free to encourage the people of Europe, especially the young, to experience art, history and culture. We made the most of the free entrance and visited many more places than we would have otherwise.

A highlight was seeing the incredible Astronomical clock in action inside the Notre-Dame Cathedral. This floor-to-ceiling ornate clock is a Renaissance masterpiece and only puts on its display at 12.30pm each day, solar noon. Not only does this clock keep time, it has a mechanical model of the solar system that accurately predicts the positions and motions of the planets, and can calculate when Easter will fall each year and when a Solar or Luna eclipse will happen. It’s an ancestor of the modern computer. Then of course there are the animated figures that everyone watches, spellbound. The performance shows the different stages of life, a child, teenager, an adult and then an old man, who all parade past Death. Higher up, the apostles have their own parade, before Christ. A life-size rooster flaps his wings throughout the parade and crows three times. It’s enthralling to watch this combination of maths, physics, art and religion.

Aside from seeing the Astronomical clock for free we climbed to the top of the Cathedral Tower, visited the three museums in the Palais Rohan – the Museums of Fine Art, Décor and Archaeology – and had the opportunity to see inside the majestic old town hall, the Hotel de Ville, which is normally closed to tourists, all courtesy of the European Heritage Days.

Not only is Strasbourg the capital of the Alsace region but it is also the capital of Europe and is home to Council of Europe, the European Court of Human Rights, the European Ombudsman, and, most famously, the European Parliament, which also holds sessions in Brussels. We spotted the European Parliament building from the top of the Cathedral Tower and wanted to see the building we’d seen on TV so many times up close, so we biked out to the new suburbs of Strasbourg where the political hub of the city is based.  The building is huge and looks like it arrived from the future, all shiny, silver and circular.  It certainly makes a statement. The flags of all member states fly proudly outside, including, for now, the Union Jack.

The historical centre of Strasbourg is only part of its charm, there are layers to this city. Outside the Grand Ile there are imperialistic buildings from the period of Prussian control, along with some beautiful examples of Art Nouveau from the early 20th century, and then there are the sleek, modern buildings claiming this city as a cosmopolitan capital. It all works, it is elegant and sophisticated.

We finished our stay in Strasbourg with that canal tour we’d booked on the first day. After walking and biking all over the city for three days we’d seen a lot and felt we had a good feel for the place, and with the weather setting in it seemed we’d judged the timing for a final canal boat ride perfectly. It was pleasant enough, the commentary was informative and we had the first-time experience of going up a canal lock, but we were reminded again that these types of tours are not really us. At least it didn’t cost a lot.

Strasbourg was a surprise. Neither of us had considered it as a destination before, and by the end of our stay we felt a bit silly we hadn’t. It’s a true European city.

Ponts Couverts with the Ill River like a mirror beneath
Petit France, Strasbourg
The Astronomical Clock in the Cathedral Notre-Dame
Palais Rohan from the Cathedral Tower
European Parliament
The canal lock on the Ill

 

Basel

We technically didn’t stay in Basel. After Strasbourg we drove 140km south to the Swiss city, but our campsite was in the French town of Huningue, a town in its own right and also the northern suburb of Basel. So, we camped in France beside the Rhine looking over to Weil am Rhine, the German town on the opposite side of the river which is also a suburb of Basel, a Swiss city. It was a win-win as French prices for camping are far less expensive than those in Switzerland.

Only a couple of minutes’ walk from the campsite was the Three Countries Bridge, a pedestrian and cycleway across the Rhine between France, Germany and Switzerland. Within a matter of minutes, we walked in three different countries, not something you can do in New Zealand.

Switzerland is not part of the EU but is part of the Schengen Visa-free area in Europe, so there’s no passport checks at the border but there are sporadic customs checks, and there is police presence on both sides of the border crossing. The Swiss go into Germany and France and take advantage of the much cheaper prices and then claim back their tax at the border. We didn’t know about this and were wondering why people were getting out of their cars at the border and going to a booth to fill out paperwork. Mr Love being the investigator he is rocked up to the Swiss border guard and quizzed him on what was happening. He was only too happy to explain. Like most of the people we have met, his opening sentence was “I don’t speak very much English”, before continuing in language perfectly to us. Later we read a bit more on this and apparently, it’s widely done but not openly spoken about, as you’re seen as not supporting Swiss businesses by shopping abroad.

Straddling the Rhine, Basel is a very picturesque city and is where a lot of the Rhine river cruises start or end. We recognised a few of the ships from when we were in Rudesheim. The Rhine is the reason the city exists, strategically placed to be a key trading centre over the centuries. The city has some beautiful historic buildings, the most striking being the deep red 500-year old Town Hall with its gilded spire. Although the history of the city is very evident, this is a very modern city, and the 25 cranes we counted from one viewpoint indicate it is transforming rapidly. As we cycled into town we passed the huge campus for the pharmaceutical giant Novartis which, along with a number of other big drug companies, are headquartered in Basel.

Switzerland is renowned for being expensive and our budget looked likely to be stretched, especially after investigating campsite prices. To counteract, we stocked up on food at the hypermarket on the border to make sure we could get through without having to do much shopping. After a relaxing few days in Basel and with the van laden with supplies we set off into Switzerland proper.

 

The flags flying on the Three Countries Bridge
Three Countries Bridge
Town Hall, Basel
Looking very European in Basel
Basel, Switzerland
Some of the many barges that transport goods up and down the Rhine
Basel, Switzerland

 

Bern

Bern was another last-minute decision. I admit, I haven’t done a lot of research into where we will go in Switzerland so our plans are a bit fluid. Having read that Bern, the Swiss capital, is consistently rated as one of the most liveable cities in the world we thought we’d like to see for ourselves. We quickly realised why.

Our campsite was beautiful, right on the Aare river and only a quick walk or bike into town. It was on the more expensive side, costing $62 NZD a night, but the excellent location and facilities made this more digestible. We were also given transport passes for our entire stay which meant free rides on all trams, cable cars and buses. This was great as it included the cable car to the top of the Gurten, Bern’s local mountain. At 860 metres the view from the top was fantastic and the free observation tower extended the view even further, right across to the snow-covered alps. The day we were up the Gurten was clear and crisp and many locals were out walking and picnicking. The recreational area at the top of the mountain is superb, with open grassed areas, gardens, walking paths, a miniature railway, and playground for kids.

The historic centre of Bern, called the Old City, is built on a hill surrounded by the river Aare. The grand Federal Palace that houses the Swiss government has prominent position overlooking the river. There are public areas all around the palace for people to sit and enjoy the surrounds, and no sign of any security. We stopped to play giant chess for a while in the sunshine. Mr Love won in record time.

The elegant Old City is home to Switzerland’s tallest cathedral as well as other churches, bridges and a large collection of Renaissance fountains. The medieval clock tower is a Bern landmark and, with what seems to be fast becoming a theme, we stopped to watch the astronomical clock strike midday, along with a small group of other tourists. Now well into autumn tourist numbers have dropped and we are enjoying sightseeing without the crowds.

The city of Bern has a close relationship with bears. There is a bear on the flag, bear emblems appear on buildings, and statues of bears are scattered around the city. Apparently, the legend is that the duke of the time decided that his new city be named after the first animal hunted there. It was a bear and the name Bern was given to the city. Bears have been kept in Bern since the 1500’s and are still a popular tourist attraction. We were a bit sceptical about a Bear Pit in the middle of a city, but were pleasantly surprised to see the three Bern bears living in a lovely enclosure on the river bank with lots of trees, logs, caves, and pools to swim in. They looked very relaxed and content. Everyone can visit the Bärengraben, or Bear Pit free of charge, it’s just part of the city.

Another part of the city that is for everyone’s enjoyment at no cost is the “urban swimming”, both in beautiful river Aare and the open air public pools next to it. The Aare is a glacial river that starts in the alps and flows very swiftly through the city. There are plenty of signs warning of the risks of changing water levels and hidden debris, however it is set up for swimming with handrails and steps dotted all along the riverbank. The first two days we were in Bern I watched people jumping in and floating down the fast-moving river. It looked like great fun, but the water was so very cold. One foot in the water was enough for Mr Love to decide he was not interested in this sport. But I was set on it, and on the last day the sun was shining and I finally decided to give it a go. Once down the river was not enough, I did it twice and loved it.

While Andrew was watching me swimming from the riverbank he got talking with some locals and was asked where we were heading next. Our idea of heading to Interlaken was met with screwed up noses and Andrew was advised to avoid this tourist trap and try Meiringen, a small town in the mountains, instead. We are always open to suggestions and eagerly take advice from locals, and our trip has been much more rewarding as a result, so we changed plans again and headed off to Meiringen.

Bern, Switzerland
Bern, Switzerland
Playing chess beside the Federal Palace, Bern
View from the Gurten, Bern
Enjoying a traditional Swiss rosti in the town square
Urban swimming in the river Aare, Bern

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