Tag: House-sitting

Posted on

Andrew’s Observations: 3 Months in Britain

Having spent a little over 3 months travelling the UK I think I am qualified enough to make a few observations of our time here. We have travelled to the top of Scotland and from the Isle of Skye on one side to Aberdeen on the other; right through Wales, from Cardiff to St David’s to Snowdonia and up to Holyhead; to the Norfolk Broads and Farne Island on the east coast of England; and down to Dover on the south coast and as far as Land’s End right at the bottom of Cornwall; and so much in between. In all we have covered 6,057 miles or 9,691 kms.  I would suggest we have seen more of the UK than 95% of the people living here. We didn’t go to Ireland as we spent two weeks there in 2016.

 

Weather

For those of you that live in the UK or have travelled here, you will know that weather is the main topic of conversation, although Brexit is a popular subject at the moment. We have been lucky enough to have been here for one of the best summers on record. Everywhere we go the locals tell us ‘it’s not normally like this’. In Glasgow we were there on the hottest day on record and many parts of the country are having their driest season on record. The countryside is very brown, and one farmer told me he has real problems ahead, as he is already feeding his winter feed out which means he won’t have enough to last winter.

 

Costs and Budgets

While here we have kept tabs on our spending but always knew it would cost us more than the continent. But, for the record, using the same NZ$1,050 per week we budgeted in Europe, we are NZ$2,000 under budget for the 14 weeks, so our spending has been around NZ$907 pw, very similar to Europe. This includes everything except car rental. Everything means petrol, food, accommodation and tourist sites. As for the car rental, we were going to buy a vehicle and resell it, but when we worked out the insurance, the road tax, the loss on sale and of course the hassle of having to sell it quickly at the end, it didn’t stack up, so we hired a car. Louise did a lot of homework on car rental as most car companies didn’t do a long-term rental rate, which did make it a bit expensive. But, Europcar do have what they call a three-month rate, albeit that meant 84 days, or three months of 28 days.  We needed 102 days, so we took the first car for 28 days to qualify for the long-term rate then another car for the remaining 76 days. In all the 102 days cost us NZ$28 a day. If you take the rental car into account, we will be something like NZ$1,000 over for the 14 weeks. Not bad, and once again we have never said we can’t afford to do or see anything. We have done everything we wanted and eaten out numerous times. Look out though for traffic infringement fines. We have had two and they’re worth explaining. When we drove into Cambridge we were following Google maps and road signs, when the road went down to one lane and it said bus lane. I couldn’t turn around as it was one-way, but the sign did say ‘bus lane except for exit to Smith Street” so I turned in Smith Street. Not good enough – we received a $120 fine plus a $80 charge from Europcar for administration. We thought about appealing it but decided not to bother and pay up. We received a $60 prompt payment discount, but it still cost us $140 all up. We thought it was a bit tough!!! The second was a parking fine. For the record you do pay for parking everywhere in the UK. There are very few free parking areas like in NZ. This time though we were in Cumbria and stopped to look at a National Trust site. The sign said; “parking one hour but no return for two hours”.  Seemed fine except after 10 minutes, sitting having coffee, we saw a warden writing us a ticket and went to investigate. He explained it was ‘disc parking’. “What?” I said. It turned out to be this: you can get a cardboard disc from any of the shops and it has a clock on it and you set the time to when you parked the vehicle and place it on the dashboard, so the warden can see how long you have been there. To be fair the warden was very helpful, but he had already written out the ticket, so it was “in the system”. I decided to email them my thoughts and try and save NZ$50. As it happened they let me off. Disc parking – one of the dumbest ideas I have ever seen, and we have not seen it anywhere else in our travels.    In the UK you see very few ‘traffic cops’. Most of their law enforcement is now done with speed cameras, and they are everywhere. It definitely makes you slow down and take heed – parking and speeding fines are expensive compared to New Zealand.

 

Touring the UK

I know most people come to the UK and see a couple of places, like London, Edinburgh and maybe a couple of smaller places, but the country is wide and diverse and steeped in so much interesting history (Louise is more in-depth about that in her blogs). Sufficed to say we have never been short of something to do and the time has gone super quick. The entrance fees to historic places – Cathedrals, Museums etc. – is significantly more expensive than Europe. Most of these places have an entrance fee of between $20 and $30 per person so we decided to join the National Trust.  After the initial outlay of around $240 we have enjoyed free entrance to many places of interest, and again Louise has explained more in her blogs. At this time of year, the country is “festivals on steroids”. There are just so many different types of festivals, from music festivals, beer festivals, jazz festivals, antique festivals, country fair festivals and so on. The cost to get into these events vary a lot. We paid NZ$6 each to go to a craft beer festival, but NZ$55 each to go to the Royal Three Counties Show, a massive country fair.

 

Accommodation

We have varied our accommodation from bed and breakfast/hotels, to house-sitting and camping. We decided back in France to buy a four-person tent, one you can stand up in, from Decathlon, a huge sports store chain. It cost us NZ$150 and was a great investment seeing the English are having a fantastic summer. We had all our bedding from the motorhome along with a small gas BBQ, pots, pans cutlery and two outdoor chairs, so we only needed an air bed. All up we have done 49 days house-sitting, 20 days in B&B and hotels, 20 nights camping and 13 nights with family. I must say the B&B costs can be a bit high for what you get. Its hard to find much for under NZ$150 but again Louise was a star using Booking.com. You can often find last minute specials and as we had no fixed plans we were happy to drive a little further and stay in a small village, which was often so much better than the tourist hot-spots. The camp site costs are a bit high. In comparison at the same time of year in Europe, for a motorhome site with power, we were paying around NZ$40 a night. Here in the UK we are paying the same or even a little more for a tent site with no power. As an aside I must say Decathlon is a great brand. They are superb with after sales service and carry such a great product range. I hope they decide to expand to New Zealand.

 

Food & Drink

Overall food and drink costs more than most of Europe but cheaper than NZ. I have been known to enjoy a pint of Guinness or two, and outside the major cities I have paid around NZ$7 to NZ$8 a pint. I know back home its more like $11 to $12.The range of places to eat out is vast. If you take an Indian Restaurant for example: twice lately we have enjoyed an Indian meal and a bottle of wine for around NZ$85, and I know it would be more like NZ$110 – $120 at home. Pub meals are well known and pretty much everywhere, but the Weatherspoon chain of pubs take a lot of beating. They have many beers around NZ$5 a pint and their meal deals are superb. They have ‘special’ nights – fish, curry, chicken, steak etc. – and they are a great deal. Buy one of these meals for around NZ$14 -NZ$16 and you get a free drink. A pint of beer (and yes, that includes Guinness), a glass of wine, or a spirit. Hard to beat a meal and a drink for that price and we can assure you the meals are good.

 

Supermarket prices, whilst being more expensive than Spain et al., are still cheaper, in most cases, than back home and the range of fresh fruit and vegetables is great. They also do so many ready-to-eat meals and these are of good quality. The range of fresh pasta for example is superb, cheap and very tasty. They have a great range of pottles of quick fresh snacks, and many do great meal-deal lunches, where NZ$6 can get you a small starter (fruit/melon in a small pot), a good filled sandwich or roll or sushi and a drink. The drink can be coke, sparkling water etc.

 

The big named supermarkets like Tesco, Morrisons and Sainsburys are under a lot of pressure from the two German cut-price supermarket chains, Lidl and Aldi, who have moved here in a big way.

 

I know back home supermarkets are moving away from single-use plastic bags, but here in the UK they already have. Most people take their reusable shopping bags. There are in-store bags available, but they are multi-use bags and there is a charge for them.  However, they may have encouraged people to bring their own bags BUT, and a big but, just about everything instore comes in a plastic container. You buy 5 nectarines in a plastic container with a cellophane top, same with a lot of other fruit and vegetables whilst in the meat cabinet all chicken, meats and everything else you can think of is packed the same way. They may have cut down on plastic bags but definitely not on packaging.

 

Final Comments

With the weather on our side the UK has had so much to offer. But, there are downsides. I do get sick of everything coming with “chips”. Every Indian restaurant we have been to offers a side of chips. When I asked why, the owner rolled his eyes and said because people want it. It also has a roll-on effect. I have never professed to be the smallest person on the planet, a little overweight (currently 94kg), but England has an obesity problem BIG TIME. There are just so many very overweight people walking round, or rather waddling around, and when you walk past the eating houses it’s obvious why. They eat far too much, and too many chips. This is not just the older population. So many in the late teens, early 20’s, are huge. As against the 30 other countries we have visited the UK obesity problem stands out.

 

Getting to see a doctor is very difficult. I am on a low medication of blood pressure pills and have been for many years. In NZ I see my doctor every 6 months for a check-up and prescription. Here they only give you a 28 day of prescription, so in England I would need 13 visits a year. In NZ I need two, and the odd thing is, in NZ they always take my blood pressure and listen to my heart. Of the 5 visits I have made in the UK I have only had my blood pressure taken once, and they never have they listened to my heart beat. It begs the question, why does one need to go to the Doctor every 28 days if all they do is write out a prescription. The problem is the NHS (National Health Service) is clogged up and getting to see a doctor is not easy. I was forced to phone at a given time to get an appointment and it was ‘first call, first seen’. You could not just walk in and get an appointment you had to ring at either 8.30 or 3.30. I overheard a lady saying she had tried 4 doctors over 2 days before getting an appointment. And from what I have been told from friends and family it is hard to see the same doctor. You get given an appointment to see “any doctor at the practice” each time you go, yet recent research shows that having the same GP halves the chance of an early death. Getting a dentist appointment is no different.

 

Mobile phone coverage is shocking. Even close to main centres and with no hills around you can be out of range. It really is bad and when compared to the other countries we visited in Europe, it is the worst. This view is shared by many English people we have talked to.

 

We have thoroughly enjoyed our three months travelling the UK. We have both been here many times before, and for the record I was born here but emigrated to NZ with my parents as a 3-year-old, but I have never spent three months just touring the country. The people are so helpful and friendly and the volunteers at the Heritage sites are so passionate and go beyond the call of duty to tell you about the place and show you around and everyone we have met has been great. They know how to greet and treat tourists.

 

In summary, we loved our 3 months here, there’s so much more to it than you imagine, and it does take time to explore properly. Britain is far better than we expected. It is so very picturesque, and each county is different from the next.

 

All I can say is good luck with Brexit ……. Perhaps we timed this trip perfectly.

 

Costs & Mileage

For the record we spent 102 nights in the UK, made up of 13 with family, 20 in B&B/Hotels, 20 in campsites and 49 house-sitting

 

B&B/Hotel costs: $2,297 at an average of $115 per night

 

Camping costs: $868 at an average of $43.40 per night

 

We travelled 6,057 miles or 9,691 kms in a bit over three months spending NZ$1,423 on petrol. Average petrol prices in UK at present are around NZ$2.53 a litre, but again you can find cheaper especially at supermarket sights and NOT on the motorway.

 

Rental car hire for just under 15 weeks: NZ$3,000, or NZ$28 per day

Cambridge Real Ale Beer Festival
Camping in Wales
Welsh Rarebit & chips
Pontcysyllte Aqueduct
Packaging galore!
So much history – this is Oxford
Port Isaac where Doc Martin is filmed
Posted on

9 Months on the Road: House Sitting

Another month gone and another chance for me to push Louise aside and have my turn on the blog. We passed a couple of milestones this month. Firstly, we notched up our 200th night in the motorhome – the rest of the nights were with family and house sitting. Secondly, we checked in to our 100th campsite, in Sardinia.

Before we left home we investigated the idea of doing some house sitting in Europe. We had used house sitters for our place in Auckland and an ex work colleague had been house sitting in Europe for a couple of years and highly recommended it. After a bit of research we registered on two sites: www.trustedhousesitters.com and www.mindmyhouse.com . I think better names would be Trusted Pet Sitters and Mind My Pets, as essentially that’s what it’s about. It costs around NZ$130 a year for Trusted House Sitters and only NZ$30 for Mind My House. You get email alerts every day with the new assignments or you can just go the website and search what’s available by country and/or date. We thought by doing a few house-sits along the way we could get off the tourist route and experience local life in a different country, as well as take a small break from the motorhome. Plus, we wanted to spend Christmas in a house, so we could cook a nice roast dinner.

To date we have undertaken five house sits in Europe and have one booked for the UK in June. We feel that may be enough, but we may look for another one in the UK in July.

In case some of you are a little confused about ‘house sits’. It’s basically looking after someone else’s house and their animals while they are away on holiday. It saves the owners paying the cost of putting their pets in a kennel or cattery and they get to stay in their own environment, plus someone is looking after the house and garden. It’s a win-win for both parties. The pets are happy, the house is secure and for the house sitters it’s free accommodation, all they need to do is provide their own food.

Here’s a snapshot of the five house-sits we have undertaken to date:

Our first house-sit was for two weeks in late October in a small French village, looking after 2 cats and a dog called Bailey. He was a lovely golden Labrador and we walked him all over the place through the hundreds of acres of vineyards. We cut the hedge and mowed the grass for the owners as well as looking after the animals. It was quite a narrow lane to get the motorhome down, so it stayed parked in the driveway for the duration of our stay and we either biked or walked everywhere. The supermarket was over 5km away and we biked there, filled our backpacks and basket and biked home. A couple of times we bought too much and had plastic bags swinging on the handle bars. Another time Louise worked out a short cut. Did I say short cut? Well, we went down small paths, across vineyards, along bumpy narrow tracks, before eventually finding the way back to the road. When we got to one corner I realised a baguette was missing. All the bumping had broken the paper bag and it had fallen out. Louise backtracked a few hundred meters and found it, unscathed and still edible. We didn’t use that short cut again!!

Our second house-sit was for nine days in early December near San Pedro de Alcantara in southern Spain. Trish had seven adorable dogs who were great fun to look after. Trish was also adorable. She had been living in Spain for many years having worked there in her early life. She had a great sense of humour and made us feel very comfortable and at home. The day we arrived Louise set off with Trish and her friends for a ‘Girls Christmas Lunch’. Most of the 18 lunch guests were Brits who now live in Spain and play golf together just down the road. I wasn’t invited so instead got acquainted with the dogs. Right opposite Trish’s house was a huge paddock, around 20 acres where we would take the dogs for a walk twice a day. The only snag was horses and a donkey that didn’t like dogs lived there. We were forever on the lookout for them and had to make some quickfire moves to avoid them. It was hysterical. Trish left us a vehicle to use so we managed to get around the coastal area and see the sights. At night I would light the fire and Louise would sit on the couch covered in dachshunds all trying to get the best spot close to her.

Pet & House-sitting in France
Pet-sitting in France
Nanny reclining by the pool in Spain
Hugs in front of the fire
4 of the 7 out walking

Our third house-sit was at Periana Spain, 20kms from the coast, in the mountains surrounded by thousands of olive trees. We were there for 2 weeks over Christmas. The drive in was hair raising. It was basically a one lane road of about 3km. We are quite a big vehicle and we had gone only 200 meters when we encountered a large Range Rover towing a trailer filled with olives. Having managed to negotiate our way past, by pulling the side mirrors in, all was good for another 500 meters when a tractor with a trailer load of olives arrived. Another deep breath and we again managed to pass. Then there were the overhanging trees – scratchy pomegranates that made an awful noise on the side of the van. At times we did wonder where we were going, but eventually we arrived at Steve, Midi and son Joe’s quaint Spanish farmhouse. We negotiated a small lane around the back of the house and parked the motorhome, and that’s where it stayed. We again had use of a vehicle. They had a few acres with three horses, a lovely dog called Milo, two rabbits, a cat and some hens. No matter which way we walked from the house it was up hill, so the fitness levels improved a lot while we were there. We had Christmas lunch on the deck in the sun and a lovely Christmas roast dinner that evening. There was only a hand full of houses in this small alcove just out of Periana and the neighbours were all were invited for drinks the day we arrived. It was an excellent idea as it enabled us to get to know everyone. Some of the neighbours kindly invited us to a lovely Boxing Day brunch with around 25 of their friends from around the area, they were ex pat Brits, a Norwegian couple, and a Belgium and Dutch couple, all of whom now call Spain home. Before we left Periana we did a bit of pruning on the roadside while we were out walking Milo and the drive out went without a hitch

Our fourth house-sit was for four days in mid-January at a place called Cehegin in the Spanish region of Murcia. Tony and Shirley moved from the UK 13 years ago. They have a number of olive trees and upon our arrival they gave us a 5-litre container of homegrown olive oil – an absolutely beautiful product. They were out in the country and had 3 dogs. The whole house ran on solar power, so you had to be a bit careful with how many appliances you had going at one time, but it all worked well. It was a nice house with swimming pool, a bit too cold to use at this time of year, and again our walks with the dogs took us through olive groves and past wild deer, much to the delight of the dogs who gave chase on one occasion but came back empty handed. One of the advantages of house sitting is it can take you off the tourist route. Louise found a campsite at a place called Bullas, about 15km from Cehegin, where we stayed the night prior. We walked in to the small town and found a wine museum. We decided to have a look around and it was fascinating. We also purchased some of the product for around NZ$5 a bottle – it would probably sell for NZ$20 plus at home. The day we left Cehegin they had a cold blast and our route took us up through a mountain range. From a distance it looked like more of those plastic green houses, but as we got closer we realised it was snow. Very beautiful.

Our final house-sit was for nine days in late January at a place called Pinos de Valle. On our arrival we realised this was one driveway we could not fit up. Our hosts Laurie and Annie have a gorgeous property in the mountains overlooking a damn, some 50km from Granada. Once we decided we couldn’t fit up the driveway, we decided to leave the motorhome at a parking lot in town about 3km up the road. The locals were told it was ours and while we were a bit nervous about leaving it there, it was as safe as houses. Again, a vehicle was left for us to run around in. The property had olives, oranges and lemons. We squeezed fresh orange juice for breakfast and were invited to take some with us which we happily accepted.  Walking tracks for the two dogs were endless and we hiked all over the place with the two adorable dogs, Lucia and Nuria. They had a beautiful bakery in the small town of four shops and one restaurant/bar. The house was very warm with two fireplaces and under floor heating. We needed it. The Sierra Nevada ski fields weren’t too far away, and a big snow fall occurred during our stay. While it didn’t snow where we were, when we drove to the nearby supermarket, about 10km away, there was snow all along the roadside and surrounding hills and the cars in the carpark were covered in snow.  Laurie is a mad keen rugby fan and they had flown off to Rome to see England play Italy.  England won. Again, a lovely place to be house sitting with great hosts.

Periana, Spain
Cehegin, Spain
Walking with Kayla in Cehegin
Louise & Nuria, Pinos Del Valle
View over Pinos Del Valle

So that was our house sitting in Europe. All different, but all great and memorable experiences. Even if a campervan tour isn’t your thing, definitely keep house-sitting in mind. It is a brilliant way to see places you wouldn’t normally see, meet great people and animals, and all for a low cost.

Now to the stats for February. We finished NZ$1,165 under budget for the month even though our mileage increased on the previous couple of months. We travelled 1,624 km’s (1,015 miles) averaging 58km a day. We spent $339 on diesel with 22 nights in campsites, 5 house-sitting and an overnight on the ferry from Barcelona to Sardinia. We are now NZ$6,811 under our budget after 9 months and feeling pretty chuffed.

Month 9 Stats

Posted on

Gibraltar & the Costa del Sol

The Strait of Gibraltar joins the Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean and is the busiest shipping lane in the world. Half the world’s seaborne trade passes through this narrow straight that is only 14km wide. As we drove over the hills from Tarifa we could see just how narrow it is, with the rock of Gibraltar looming on one side and the mountains of Morocco just a stone’s throw across the water.

Understandably controlling this stretch of water gave a nation great power in years gone by, and having military presence in this area was strategically important and the reason Great Britain held on so tightly to “The Rock”. It still is a British Overseas Territory, but these days by choice.

La Linea, the Spanish town that borders Gibraltar, is a port town and has a reputation for harbouring an unsavoury underworld. It certainly didn’t look like the Spain we were used to. Our campsite was in La Linea across the road from the beach. It was run by a trust that helps support people with mental disabilities in the workforce and the staff stay in a hostel next to the campsite. The pride they took in their work was clear, it was easily the cleanest we’d been to and the grounds were immaculate. There were a lot of cats around, and all very friendly. We were told by a regular camper that these weren’t strays, they were therapy cats for the residents in the adjourning care facility.

Andrew got talking to an English guy who went to Gibraltar often, or Gib as its affectionately known.  He was ex-Navy and had been based at Gibraltar so had a sentimental connection to the place and visited every winter when he was in the south of Spain. He offered to show us around the military sights, but we kindly declined.  Gibraltar was an important base for the British Navy so is great for those who love military history. Under the rock is a labyrinth of tunnels still used by the military, and inaccessible to the public.

The next morning, we biked to Gibraltar. It was 5kms to the border through La Linea and it was the first time we’d seen the town up close. Rundown and cramped, we were happy to be cycling through and not stopping. Originally, we had planned to leave our bikes in Spain and walk into Gibraltar but had been told it wasn’t very secure and cycling in was a better option. So, we joined the traffic flow and cycled through with the stream of cars. A smartly uniformed Gibraltan border control officer asked for our passports and after a quick glance at the photo page waved us through and we were soon cycling across the runway of the Gibraltan International Airport and into little Britain. The road signs and billboards were in English, the service station advertised petrol in pounds per litre, and policemen were decked out in attire identical to a London Bobby, complete with that iconic hat. It got weirder from there on – it was like we’d biked through a time warp into 1970’s Britain. Sandwich boards advertised overstated pub lunches and Devonshire teas, Britannica memorabilia was in every shop, red telephone boxes stood on street corners, and broad London accents could be heard everywhere. Even the buildings were straight out of the 60’s and 70’s, a reminder of a time when Gibraltar had more relevance.

Gibraltar is tiny, less than 7 square kilometres, and is home to 30,000 people. Considering most the area is taken up by a giant uninhabitable limestone rock, it makes for very high-density living around the base.

Our only real plan for the day was to go to the top of the Rock of Gibraltar and see those famous monkeys. Taxis offer tours to the top, you can walk up, or there’s the cable car. We opted for the latter and were soon on our way up the 426-metre-high rock.  The cable car station was rundown, and the obligatory café looked like it had seen better days. We’d wondered what we’d come to as we stepped out onto ruined concrete fortifications covered in graffiti and with lots of litter about. Then we saw those lovely monkeys. Most of the Rock’s upper area is covered by a nature reserve and is home to around 250 Barbary macaques. These are the only wild monkeys found in Europe and are listed as endangered. The majority live in the mountains of Morocco and it’s likely the population in Gibraltar was introduced during the Islamic period, long before the British took control. They are wild, but they are used to people, so you can get very close to them. They were very absorbing to watch, and I found myself shimmying along a rock ledge to get closer to a group of lively babies who were having a great time swinging in a tree overhanging a cliff. It wasn’t all fun though. We witnessed a poor lady lose three newly purchased bags of baby formula. The monkeys just went straight up to her and ripped open the shopping bag, the formula packets fell out, they ripped those open and were soon blissfully licking a pile of milk powder, all the time watched by a bewildered baby who didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Another young woman thought a photo with a monkey on her back would be a good idea, the monkey thought ripping the sleeve off her rather nice jacket was more amusing. We kept a safe distance and I held on tightly to my phone.

There is a well-known prophecy that says that if the monkeys leave Gibraltar then so too will the British. The Gibraltans are proud to be part of Britain and in 2002 voted overwhelmingly against shared sovereignty with Spain. Relations with Spain have been fraught over time as the Spanish have laid claim to this piece of the Iberian Peninsula. Recently things have heated up as Gibraltar worries about its position as Brexit forges ahead and they are currently pushing for representation in Westminster and the right to vote in UK general elections. It’s no wonder those monkeys are so well looked after.

Back at the base of The Rock we wandered through the shopping precinct, stopping to browse in Marks & Spencer’s. I bought some jeans, and at the counter the shop assistant, who was speaking Spanish to a colleague, turned to me and greeted me in a strong East London accent. We asked what the story was. She was Spanish, was brought up in London, lives in La Linea, and comes to Gibraltar daily for work. Most of the retail and hospitality workers live in La Linea as it’s cheaper.

M&S is just one of the familiar British brands that make Gibraltar a home away from home for ex-pats living in southern Spain. Morrison’s is particularly popular for those seeking truly British foodstuffs. Now we had seen Gibraltar we couldn’t quite understand the attraction of the place and why so many British people we’d met talked of going to “Gib” regularly.

The day was ending. We found our bikes and pedalled against the wind across the runway and to the border. Following the sign with the arrow pointing to Spain we were surprised there was no queue. Two Spanish border control officers were leaning against a post chatting and laughing and didn’t even look up as we cycled out of Britain and into Spain.

Gibraltar is an odd place stuck in a different era. The Naval Base has gone, and today their economy is based largely on tourism, online gambling, financial services, and cargo ship refuelling services. Much of it depends on access to the EU single market, which Brexit makes uncertain.

On top of The Rock
Stolen baby formula
Little Britain
Crossing the runway to Spain

The next morning, we headed off up the Costa del Sol towards San Pedro de Alcántara and our next house-sitting job. This coast was one of the first areas in southern Spain to become a destination for Brits to holiday and as a place to retire. Now hundreds of thousands call it their home. The entire coastline is built up with apartment complexes and resorts merging into each other. The apartment blocks vary in style and age, from the mid-20th century to the new. But there are also the shells of unfinished apartments, lying dormant. These are the reminders of the crash in 2008, evidence of which is all through this part of Spain. We stopped at a supermarket and for the first time heard announcements in English. We were later told that announcements in Russian are now also common. We weren’t due to be at our house sit until the following day so stayed the night at a campground near the beach just out of Estepona and the following morning drove the 10km to meet Trisha and her seven dogs. Trisha has lived in Spain most of her adult life and shares her home with four dachshunds, one French bulldog, a Spanish hunting dog and a lovely big old dog, like an oversized sheep dog. We were greeted like long lost friends, both by Trisha and the very excitable “dogettes”.  An hour after arriving Trisha whisked me off for a Christmas lunch with her golfing friends, leaving a bewildered Mr Love at home with the seven dwarves. There are golf courses all along this coast and is part of the attraction for people retiring to this area.

I had a fantastic afternoon lunching with a group of 15 smart and opinionated ladies from varied backgrounds and countries and with some amazing stories to tell. All had made the move to live permanently in Spain, some decades ago and others just months. The common denominator was a love of travel and a life spent travelling prior to the move. Most were career women, some had globe-trotting roles, others were married to men who had been stationed abroad. Retiring in a country that they had barely spent any time in wasn’t an option, so one with better weather, an interesting culture and only a short flight away from the motherland, or fatherland, seemed a much more attractive option. We laughed lots. They were superb company.

After a very long lunch, Trisha and I arrived home around six to find the fire lit and Mr Love covered in dogs watching the news.

The next day Trisha showed us around her town of San Pedro de Alcántara, where the supermarket was and the beach, and took us to the Thursday market, one of the best we’d seen with an abundance of fresh produce, crafts, clothing and antiques. We stocked up at the markets and then headed down the coast to Estepona to drop some things at Trisha’s dog charity shop, after which she kindly shouted us a tapas lunch.

We got home to find one of the dogs, Molly, wasn’t at all well. Trisha and I bundled her up and took a ride to the vet. An x-ray showed a bad case of constipation, a plate of chick peas to blame. An enema and she was right. Thankfully that was the one and only vet trip.

That night Andrew cooked a roast and introduced Trisha to roasted beetroot and the next day we were left to our own devices as Trisha headed back to the UK for a week.

Our routine was to take the seven dogs through the hedge to a large olive grove for their twice-daily walks. The problem was the field was also occupied by a herd of horses and an angry donkey who didn’t like small dogs. We took turns keeping a look out and if we saw the horses in the distance we quickly turned and headed in the opposite direction. We had a couple of close calls; once coming face to face with the donkey and having to round up the troops at speed, and then there was a stampede just as we were going back through the hedge and one of the dachshunds took off after them, luckily it was the older one who was a bit wiser and didn’t get under their feet. All in all, they were a delightful bunch who loved their walks and in the evening piled on top of us for cuddles in front of the fire.

Trisha had given us her old SUV to use so once the morning walk was complete we had time explore the area.

A long walk along the seaside boulevard took us from San Pedro to Puerto Banus, the playground of the mega rich, where high-end fashion stores sell luxury brands, the marina is filled with super yachts and Bentleys line the streets. We heard a lot of Russian and Swedish being spoken, along with Spanish and English. Apparently, the Scandinavians are coming in their droves to the Costa del Sol. Lunch in Puerto Banus was out of the question, so we walked back to San Pedro for tapas by the beach.

Marbella is only 16km from San Pedro, so we made that another day trip. We almost gave up after struggling to find somewhere to park. The Spanish don’t seem to follow any rules with parking and stop anywhere they can, making narrow streets even more difficult to navigate through. Marbella is very touristy, but the historic centre is gorgeous, with white buildings trimmed in blue and sunshine yellow, narrow paved streets, flower pots brimming with colour, and of course orange trees.

We much preferred Estepona, 20km from San Pedro in the opposite direction. Trisha had taken us there, but we hadn’t had a good walk around, so we went back. Like Marbella, its right on the water and, like all Andalusian towns, is filled with those gorgeous white buildings. However, it’s not yet a tourist hot spot and is much more Spanish. Trisha had told us the new mayor had done a lot to clean the town up and had instigated the painting of huge murals on the newer, uglier buildings, and the planting of flower pots in all the streets. The murals are amazing. One of a fisherman catching a fish in the surf covers five buildings, creating a 3D effect coming down the street. The flower pots are a gorgeous touch and in Estepona each street has a different colour theme, for the pots and the flowers.

One evening after the dogs were walked we headed in to San Pedro to see the Christmas lights. Every town in Spain is decked out with elaborate Christmas lights and in San Pedro they are particularly good. That evening there was a flamenco display from the local dance schools, the tiny girls were adorable, earnestly stomping their feet and clicking their fingers a beat behind their instructor.

The week sped by and soon Trisha was home, greeted by a very happy bunch of dogs and with another roast dinner in the oven courtesy of Mr Love.

The next day we said goodbye to our seven furry friends, and to Trisha, and headed away from the coast up into the mountains to the historic town of Ronda.

Ladies who lunch
Marbella
Posted on

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

Posted on

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.

 

Proudly powered by WordPress