To add insult to injury at the mention of Genoa, we ended up facing Another Bloody Strike when we were trying to leave Genoa and head to Nice.
Our plan had been to catch the train that rattles round the coastline from Genoa to Ventimiglia, revelling in the views of the Ligurian Sea. Of course, because there is an unspoken non-co-operation, one has to only go to the border on the Italian train then change trains to a French one for the rest of the journey and continue on to Nice.
After all the traumas of the Genovese Escalator, I was pretty bloody keen to get the hell OUT of Genoa! So we headed to the station (yes! THAT station) only to be confronted by that horrible sight of (YET AGAIN!) endless cancelling train departures! Phil insisted on buying a ticket on a later train in desperate hope that this wasn't happening again. Ms Snotty Features muttered infuriatingly about a bus, car or plane, but no, we would be catching a train! That man will be having a hearing test when we get back!
After waiting for the new train ticket to be discovered to be worthless, we decided to just get in a cab and go to the airport and try and collect a hire car! Well! It seems others hadn't bought later train tickets and had just got on with getting the F*** out of there!
Flights to Nice were running at nearly $1000 per seat and required olympian feats of Europe-hopping, and time, to get the couple of 100kms to Nice. Hiring cars was complicated by the undercurrent of antipathy where both countries are reluctant to let their cars cross the border! We could have hired a car with French plates for the couple of hours drive, but it wouldn't be available to the next day and was also close to $1000. Our last resort was a bus trip! But no, not until tomorrow could even that be achieved!
With another couple of hours of seething at Genova's airport under our belts, we slunk back into a taxi, and took ourselves to a hotel we'd had to book at the last minute. And turned up the next day for the underwhelming thought of a coach ride to Nice!
Unlike the traumas of a train trip, the wonderful thing about the coach ride was there was no fighting for spots for our cases! There was an enormous luggage hold under the seating in the bus and life was easy. Climbing in and out of the steep steps into the bus was far more challenging. The masks came out to wear as well, because the seats were pretty cosy. But the drivers were excellent and the journey smooth, plus they helped us get cabs at the Nice stop which seemed to be somewhere industrial. So, despite our worst fears of catching a bus, it was surprisingly bearable.
In Nice, we had booked a pleasant hotel. I suspect it might be quite difficult to find an UN-pleasant hotel in Nice. It really is a lovely city. But, thanks to the strike, our 2 planned nights were down to 1. What's more, we weren't arriving into Nice till early evening, and were due to collect a car the next morning and head off driving around France. We decided that was all going to be ridiculous, and Nice looked far too tempting to spend 12 hours there, so we booked another night!
Thanks to that right decision, we were able to meander around Nice the next day, plus go to the Musee National Marc Chagall which contains the largest collection of his works.
Beside the beach in Nice is a long wide boulevard called Promenade des Anglais. It derives from Victorian times when heading to Nice was de rigeur for the wealthy and they would promenade down the boulevard to be seen. So, of course, that was an obligatory requirement for us as well. While the weather was pretty mild, by late afternoon it was also starting to get a bit cool as we sat on the PEBBLE beach in a row of beach chairs and sipped a wine! Personally, I think if it's got pebbles, not sand, then it's not a beach! But I'm positive there will be plenty of people to howl me down for THAT comment! Anyway we enjoyed our promenade!
With a car under our bums and the suitcases safely stowed in the boot, we hit the road. By this time, all the chaos had REALLY caught up with us and exhaustion had set in again! So we savagely attacked our planned itinerary and headed to Arles for an extended stay. Those 8 days in Arles have been the highlight of our trip so far.
Stays in Cahors (to taste Malbec wines at their source) and Limoges (to visit the infamous WW2 massacre site of Oradour-Sur-Glane) got ditched! And while we were at it, we took the knife to the rest of our plans for France and simplified them dramatically. So, a nice long stay in Arles to heal the exhaustion, 4 nights in Bordeaux (yes more wine-tasting), abandoning a much-wished for trip to Carnac (where hundreds of megaliths are lined up near the coast), a 4 night visit to La Rochelle (a summertime beach haven on the west coast looking out over the Baby of Biscay to the Atlantic), a long drive to Caen in Normandy for a 3 night stay (allowing us to head to Bayeux to see the famous Bayeux Tapestry of William the Conqueror's feats in 1066), and 2 nights in Paris before catching the Eurostar to London. Ridiculously intricate plans to head to Burgundy for more wine-tasting were abandoned, both because of how unrealistic they were, and because we've been there before! If we get a chance while we are in Paris in Jan, we might head down there for a 1-night stay!
Suddenly our visit to France had taken on a totally different look and a far less stressful feel.
Arles was truly the most gorgeous little town and the old town was a quiet little neighbourhood with lovely little shops, bars and restaurants and everything in walking distance. The only time the car left the parking garage was our aborted trip to Aix.
We went to the enormously long Saturday market and bought fruit and veg, cheeses, pates, and browsed the other stalls. Our accommodation host had blessed her guests with a little shopping trolley just perfect for looking at-home amongst the locals at the market. We slept in with the big shutters over the windows allowing us to avoid morning light. We ate in, and out. We spent time doing things like writing travelogues, doing the washing regularly, dealing with business from home, and doing some preparatory family history for later in our trip. Both Arles cosiness and the enforced slow-down was definitely healing of frayed nerves and fraught conversations. As I walked through Place de la Republique for the last time, I knew I would miss this little place and always remember it with pleasure.
What we did notice in Arles was that this was the turning point for weather. We'd been getting temperatures in the high teens and sometimes low 20s since our arrival. But in Arles, the wind developed an icy touch. Jackets went on every time we went out, I dragged my gloves out of the bottom of my case, I bought a beret to keep my head warm, and a scarf to keep my neck warm. But, still we felt winter's icy touches!
It was time to start learning about Europe in winter. Not necessarily an experience I had thought would be difficult. But in Arles I began to realise, this whole winter thing was a very different ball game!
La Rochelle was purely so we could look at the sea! Except the driving rain and wind we had during that time, kinda ruined that plan! (More winter learning!) Our apartment building was worryingly less than impressive-looking, until we got inside and found a spacious, well-equipped holiday house with some quirky signs of a host with a sense of humour. So while we may not have got out much in la Rochelle, we enjoyed it all the same as we turned on the heating and cooked up a storm!
So onto Bordeaux where we had booked an apartment near the Cite du Vin (an interactive and highly educational centre about wine - the primary business of Bordeaux). Our apartment was on the 8th floor and had great views but was a very tiny apartment, really only made for 1 person. Our host was upset when we didn't give him a 5 star rating, but then he hadn't cleaned his toilet before he handed over to us so why would we?
With Cite du Vin so close, we duly trotted off there and worked our way around the many items in this intriguing Musee. We had been to Bordeaux once before staying only 2 nights and visiting St Emilion (of one peninsula on the estuary) on the one day we had. It was in Bordeaux that Phil first tasted a wine he fell in love with - Haut-Medoc, a rich red wine.
Knowing this, I was determined he should get a chance to tour the area where the wine originates (the other peninsula on the estuary). While only split apart by the river and estuary, wines from the 2 different peninsulas are quite different. I wanted Phil to get to try some wines from the Left bank, where the Medoc and Margaux wines famously originate. As a white wine drinker I wasn't really interested and I reckoned it was really a waste of money for me to go! And that made Phil extremely reluctant to take the tour I kept pressing him to discuss with me, so I could book it. In the end, on the available day there was already 1 fully booked tour and one other potential tour which required a minimum of 2 participants to go ahead! Reluctantly, I booked us both on the tour, privately vowing to make sure I had my book with me to relieve the boredom!
Effectively this meant we were on a private tour while paying group tour rates and our tour was of the Margaux region where premium Bordeaux wines are in abundance. Our guide Rene was brilliant and a local with a broad range of interests and we all got on like a house on fire. Our education at Cite du Vin meant we were able to ask some quite intelligent questions at each of the three wine making "chateaux" we visited. We both tasted and Phil bought some of what he was tasting with great enthusiasm as his now expanding medoc tastes grew!
After the ponderous battles we'd had about doing this tour, and his extraordinary reluctance, he admitted that yes it had been worth every minute, and it was the right idea! So, 50 years with him have given me a fair idea of what might please him! So at least I got that right!
So, onto Caen (pronounced Kon without fully pronouncing the "n"). Again we stayed in the centre of town. The hotel was right opposite the Christmas market, which made me excited. We've all heard of how lovely these European Christmas markets are meant to be, so I'd been looking forward to seeing some of them. But alas, I was underwhelmed! Lots of (the same) Christmas decorations, mulled wines, fast foods, and local trinkets. Nothing that tempted me to pull out the purse!
But, Bayeux was a different story. I first heard about the Bayeux tapestry when I was in a high school history lesson, and was intrigued about it from then onwards. I'd just never had the opportunity to get there before. It is an extraordinarily preserved, enormously long (70metres) and narrow piece of fabric using amazing naive styled embroidered pictures to tell the stories of William of Normandy (aka William the Conqueror) and his desires and battles to conquer the English (and his brother) to become King of England in 1066, resulting in centuries of Norman influence on England. Considering most of the people were illiterate, it's a very clever piece of positive marketing from Medieval times.
It was fascinating! Sorry no photos to show you! No photos could be taken in order to preserve this precious piece of fabric. Even the viewing area was very dimly lit to protect it! After all, it is estimated it was created in 1070s. Yes a thousand years! And I am so glad I have seen it. I think Phil might have agreed to see it, because he just goes with the flow, and usually what I've chosen is ok! But afterwards, his enthusiasm was equal to mine! Felix the Younger was seen at Christmas sporting his new tee-shirt with Bayeux tapestry figures on his chest! And a fascinating book is in my case for all the grandkids to learn a little more about this part of history!
We really only had one full day in Paris before heading to London and it was spent doing some feverish Christmas shopping and getting the parcel in the mail! We visited "our tree" on Ile de la Cite, meandered along the streets of Ile St Louis and consumed some of the famous Berthillon ice cream, even though it was winter! A warming lunch of French Onion Soup followed and we were happy little Vegemites, sure in the knowledge that in January we would be back in Paris for another 2&1/2 weeks! Bliss!
In the meantime, the Eurostar train trip under the channel was waiting and it was time to hit London.
This featured blog entry was written by OwenGadflies from the blog Our Last Hurrah.
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