Roger, Linda and Max
Somewhere in France (at present on the outskirts of Nimes)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
It’s Sunday and I’ve been moved to write again, not as those of you who know me well will realise, by some ecclesiastical experience but rather by Sunday lunch!! If you so wish feast your eyes on the next instalment, where you will see that even the dog is getting into the French way of things!! Read on ......!!
Mon cher amis
The Journey Continues and other observations (Ramblings as Linda would say!)
Well, over another week gone and we have left the sun of the Cote d’Azur and travelled west to Nimes where this morning it rained, but stayed warm last night – guess you can’t have it all ways!! And now as bedtime looms the rain is now hammering down on the roof. In the last few days we have been busy, with the odd day off for good behaviour, but arriving here yesterday must have taken its toll as I was tucked up in bed very fast asleep last night at just after nine thirty. Age must be catching up on me as I have advanced another year since my last communication to you all, but that might need to wait for another time!!
As a break from the format of my last missive this one, to keep the interest going, is going to have a number of sub headings, and contain as it says above not only a travel log but also some observations on life in general!! How profound!! So read what you will and dip in and out at your will.
Max ~ le petit chien brun Francais!
Those of you who know Max our faithful hound will know he is no spring chicken, and to get your first passport at 91 and venture to foreign parts is no mean feat. But, he’s quite simply taking it all in his stride even the quite literal leap in and out of the caravan, with his ageing limbs!! Linda thinks we need a deux marché (double step) and we have been looking out for a caravan accessory shop. I had even got my French all sorted out to say that I needed a double step as I had an old dog and also for the old wife (le vieux chien et aussi la femme)!! I got a sharp jab in the ribs for that one, and it was a bit unfair as she is suffering with plantar fasciitis, a painful condition that some of you may remember I had a couple of years ago, caused by an inflammation in the sole of the foot and very uncomfortable to walk on, particularly first thing in the morning.
Anyway, back to the other old thing, Max!! Before leaving for France he was having barking lessons to change the British woof to a Gallic wouf, but as he is “très sourd” (very deaf) it hadn’t been going too well. But since our arrival and his fraternisation with numerous French dogs, including poodles, although the poodle he met first was from England!, he is picking up some of the lingo, with the help of sign language! He now knows here is “ici,” sit is “assayez-vous” and come on is “allez,” which is strange because literally it means go!! We are still working on stay and directions (left and right) although he is good with the sign language for these!!
He is also loving all the new smells and experiences, as you may have read in the last missive, but also because we are spending so much time in close proximity, becoming a pampered pet, although he wasn’t too keen when a jogger and his jogging dog passed us the other morning and looked at me as if to say “Don’t you dare!” I think he’s safe there as my jogging days are long gone – although age or indeed size don’t seem to be a barrier on the Cote D’Azur! Also, he has got quite used to the café scene, but I think would draw the line at riding shotgun in our trolley around the supermarket (he wouldn’t like the mesh under his feet – we’d have to carpet the trolley!) or being carried around the market in a shopping basket, both common occurrences, but more for whimpish dogs, not ones who are perfecting the Englishdog abroad swagger!
He has however, developed a passion for croissants and French bread and you have to beware if giving him a small morsel of either that he doesn’t take half your finger with it or if you put it in his bowl he doesn’t dent the cupboard behind, in his urgent quest to make up for lost time from previous visits to France when he hasn’t been with us!! Being deaf he doesn’t seem to hear when you say “gently” and shouting “GENTLY” loudly sort of misses the point! As an elderly gent he spends a good deal of time asleep, but the moment the breakfast croissants or French bread as much as hover near the table he shoots out of his bed and initially waited a discrete distance for that final morsel to be offered. Now, he is more forward and has developed what I imagine he thinks is a cute and endearing routine! He does what we have christened his French bread dance, which involves vigorous licking of his lips (sign language for please!), a complicated French step dance routine with his front legs, followed by a number of small bounces – all quite cute and endearing really!! However, I don’t think he’ll put on too much weight as he’s walking more and more, perhaps in the hope that we visit a market or a café! It’s obviously getting to him as he even started to jog along with a jogger and his dog this morning and now it’s me looking at him as if to say – no chance!! My main worry now is that when out walking we’ll pass a Frenchman returning home with the morning’s bread, which they tend to hold nonchalantly at arm’s length whilst bonjouring and passing the time of day with everyone they meet. I can see them having quite a shock when they get home and find that Max has surreptitiously taken a large chunk off the end, as the man turned to his friend and said, have you seen the cute and endearing dance that this dog does?
I had thought that Max was enjoying our company, but now I’m not sure that it’s not that he wants to make sure he doesn’t miss out on any food! He even wakes me two or three time in the night on the pretext of needing to cock his leg against the nearest tree, and hasn’t yet cottoned on to the fact that the dance doesn’t work at three o’clock in the morning!!
They do say that you haven’t fully integrated into a country until you dream in the language of that country. Well, Max’s dreams certainly seem to have become more animated as he; twitches, woufs (he did learn after all!), shakes and sniffs. No doubt dreaming of French markets, French bread, French cheese and French poodles! Mind you they do say about dogs and their owners – having gone to bed ridiculously early last night, slept soundly for several hours before being woken by the little wouf, I then tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, thinking about French pork scratchings and how I should write about them in one of the “chapters,” and I don’t even know if they make such a thing!!
The wonders of modern technology
I’m one of those who marvel at really quite simple things like: how planes fly, massive boats float and how simple landline telephone allow you to phone friends on the other side of the world!! Linda tells me the first two, at least, are all down to physics and nothing like as amazing as how we know where we are when we wake up in the morning and bodily things such as that – you see we are still talking and having some rather profound conversations!
It is not that long ago that phoning home from a holiday in France involved collecting together a stash of Francs, finding a suitable phone box that wasn’t occupied by a love-sick teenager on holiday with their parent’s and in lengthy conversation with a loved one that they weren’t going to see for a week and then when finally you got in the phone box being informed that “sorry all international lines are busy, please try again later!” But all that has now changed and as I said in the last missive, I was able to sit in the comfort of my own caravan and despatch off a magazine for printing. Not only that at the touch of a few buttons I can; phone a friend anywhere in the world, sometimes text them even with moving graphics, fanfares and photographs or video clips, send and receive emails or chat on-line, phone via internet using Skype (download it if you haven’t already got it, it gives you free calls to other Skype users anywhere in the world, at any time for as long as you want, even with a live webcam if you’ve got it! Simply type Skype into your search engine and don’t forget to tell your friends you have registered.), check the internet, at any time, for any information about anything that I want to find out.
Well, with no access to television and being a little out of touch news wise, I overheard a conversation about the forthcoming rugby matches, which alerted me to the fact that Wales, at the point on a roll, were meeting France at the Stade de France, Paris, the following evening. Part way through the evening I remembered this and needing to know the score before getting a cryptic text from a Welsh friend and ex-colleague, I was able to go on-line and receive the latest score. I had promised the friend that now I was going to be in France I would support France (for reasons of entente cordial!!), unless England were playing and quite expected to be able to text him the simple message “Allez! Allez! Allez!, feeling that France would be hard to turn over on home turf. Imagine then my surprise to find the score 13 – 3to Wales with little time left for France to come back. Imagine then my greater surprise to find out a few minutes later that the full-time score was 13 – 13!, a turn around that prompted a revised text saying simply “Mon Dieu!!!!!!!!!” With the wonders of modern technology I received a nearly instant and even shorter reply, that however said much – “Qui!!!!”
The moral of this story, as well as the wonders of modern technology, is that it’s easy to stay in touch – look forward to hearing from you soon!!!
Sunday Lunch - Nimes
Sunday lunch remains an important part of French life and restaurants are often packed out with families, friends and lovers taking in a leisurely stroll and an even more leisurely lunch in some suitable bistro, apparently so called as it is what the Russian soldiers shouted as they made for the Parisian cafés, after seizing Paris in 1815!! Although, there do seem to be other explanations for the term including the dubious practice of watering down wine (bistrouiller) and passing it off as cheap wine. You see, I haven’t been totally idle since my “retirement!!”
We had our stroll this morning, first around the local supermarket to stock up before they shut at lunchtime for the rest of the day, as it’s Sunday. Then we strolled, avec chien (with dog) around the local park and yes I did say we, as Linda has become quite energetic in her “retirement!,” and then it was off into Nimes for lunch. As we didn’t leave the caravan until one o’clock, we were potentially in danger of having to return for food in the caravan as French cafés shut up shop on Sunday afternoon, to recover from what is often a busy service.
Driving into any French city on a Sunday is much easier and more pleasurable than during the rest of the week, particularly when everyone is dining, as there are few cars on the road, but the down side can be that they’re not on the road, but parked at the side and parking becomes difficult. But we followed the Centre Ville (Town Centre) signs and finally tucked ourselves neatly into a rather uneven space under one of a large avenue of trees that was playing havoc with the tarmac. At this point we had little idea of how near we were to the centre, but at least we were on foot and able to dip into a suitable restaurant, should we find one open and still serving! However, pedestrian signs pointing to both the Tourist Office and the Cathedral, meant that the centre couldn’t be too far away, but like France often, everything appeared to be shut; shops, cafés, restaurants even the churches and it was Sunday. Surprisingly, the one thing we did find open was, albeit on the point of closing, a large covered produce market, unique in my experience of Sunday morning in France. But the presence of the thriving market meant that here were at least now people around and a very noisy and busy bar – restaurant, things were looking up but this establishment was just too full. A short wander past the cathedral and we found another restaurant, open but empty of which I’m often wary, so we walked on, turned a corner and found “the street” to be in when looking for Sunday lunch in Nimes. Restaurant after restaurant, all open and some bustling, but despite the lateness of the hour, I’m not one for entering the first restaurant, choosing needs time and care!! So ignoring a sighing Linda we walked down the street and then something amazing happened.
On arriving in Nimes I had taken out my old (2004) DK Eyewitness Travel Guide for the whole of France and read the section on Nimes and seen the only restaurant entry for the whole of the city of Nimes. The restaurant was called Nicholas and from the write up: “Regional fair at good value prices in a packed but friendly and unpretentious atmosphere,” and being within the bottom price bracket seemed rather appealing, but at that point I hadn’t even registered the area of Nimes or the street it was in. But there, on the right just a little way down the side street was a restaurant called “Nicholas,” and as the menu looked good and it was certainly popular we went in through a small internal glass porch and hoped we were not too late to be fed. We were in luck and an elderly, and at first rather dour looking lady indicated a table, and we entered an amazingly unpretentious, but quietly a little chic and very French restaurant, which initially looked very large until you realised that a large mirror along the whole of one wall doubled the size of the room and there were two of everybody eating! However, it was still packed and welcoming and although we were the last people to be served, the next potential diners, who came in some time after us but whilst we were on our first course, were turned away, we were certainly not rushed. Indeed, it was some time before the old lady came to wipe down the table, bring us our menus and a take our order. But, this gave us plenty of time to take in the surroundings. The room was airy with lots of large windows set in the two bare stone walls that looked onto the road outside, as the establishment is on a corner, with three large stone arches at the back of the room, opening on to the serving area and entry to the kitchen, a small well stocked bar, complete with the obligatory shiny coffee machine, a staff table for sorting out the bills and relaxing at quiet times, although that seemed unlikely at the moment, and the toilets – unisex and unpretentious, but with the trapping of French chic, or should that be hygiene, as the seats had automatically replaced plastic covers, the soap dispenser and paper towel holder dispensed automatically with the wave of the hand and the tap was operated by a knee lever!! and all very clean.
The restaurant seated a good fifty, and was fairly full and certainly very bubbly with the French enjoying what seemed to be beautifully presented, delicious food, that was flowing freely from the kitchen, delivered by the short, shuffling old lady and a tall, very thin young waiter with a long thin rat’s tail of hair coming half way down his back. Both had their systems which worked very efficiently, even if the young man seemed to expend more energy than the old lady, and not only delivered the food but also; took orders, cleared tables, prepared desserts and generally commanded the room. They were supported by a small, slight and quiet man who was obviously being kept very busy with the washing up and without any conversation kept the piles of plates topped up and ready for use, including the unusual addition of a modern plate warmer to the side of the large serving table. In the kitchen was at least one colossus of a chef; tall, broad and obviously a fan of his own cooking who on a couple of occasions, when orders were coming particularly fast and furiously ventured out of the kitchen, to put things on the serving table, but was a little like a frightened fox caught in the headlights of a car at night – ill at ease in unfamiliar surroundings. I couldn’t help but muse, that one of the pleasures I get in preparing food is to watch the people around me enjoying the fruits of my labours, as a hard working chef stuck in a busy and no doubt hot kitchen, some of that pleasure of creativity must be lost, unless of course he has a secret spy hole to gauge the reactions of his diners!!
The menu certainly was very good and very reasonable, firmly putting it into the lower price bracket, with simply honest fair and a very unpretentious but very adequate wine list – carafes of the local Vin de Pays (rouge or rosé) very reasonable priced - €5.50 for the half bottle sized carafe we ordered that came as half a litre!, Costières de Nîmes the local AOC (rouge, rosé or blanc) and some Côte du Rhône. We both opted for the €18.50 menu, although we could have had menus at €13.50 or €22.50, or chosen from the small but varied carte.
For each of the three courses that were offered by the three menus, there was a good choice of at least four or five items and on our list the choice was difficult, as I could quite happily have had anything on offer, except perhaps the ice-cream on the dessert section! Linda ended up choosing a smoked salmon salad followed by a steak (salade salmon fume et entrecote) and I choose mussels of the house followed by a lamb and pepper kebab (moules à la maison et brochette d’agneau et poivron), with the wine and a jug of water (pitchet d’eau).
Not long afterwards, although nothing was rushed about the ordering and eating, the wine, water and plates arrived with the obligatory basket of sliced French bread, followed shortly by the starter; a very hot plate, “très chaud” as warned by the waiter, of beautifully arranged open mussels liberally coated in a white herb speckled sauce, sitting on another plate for me and a large white porcelain mixing bowl of salad for Linda, which was dressed at the table by the waiter part served onto her plate and we were left with a cheery “Bon Appètit!” Hopefully, at this point the chef was looking through his secret spy hole, as on the first mouthful of mussel and sauce I must have visibly mewed and sunk contentedly into my chair, with muttering of “to die for!!” as Linda rather quizzically had her first mouthful of heavily and after the initial shock, heavenly vinaigrette dressed salad with smoked salmon and cream cheese amongst the leaves. My sauce, once I had got over the glorious taste explosion that filled my mouth at the same time as filling my whole world with a splendid feeling of well-being? Rich cream, fine herbs and lashings of raw grated garlic for starters!! I did read once that it wasn’t the done thing to use the French bread provided to mop up the sauce in a French restaurant, but I certainly wasn’t sending any of it back!!
With this amazing feeling of well-being the meal continued, the meat on both our plates done to perfection, with surprisingly large portions of pan fried mixed vegetables (green beans, white beans, carrots and aubergine) and the silkiest of creamed potato, that certainly hadn’t stinted on the cream!! Even the cheap carafe of wine was suitably pleasant due to the slow pace of the meal, despite the vibrant, and yes unpretentious, atmosphere of the place, more of the surroundings could be taken; in the pleasant French country green woodwork and wooden and metal beams holding up the rough stone ceiling, the very modern but very suitable and in keeping grey up-lighters with diffuser meshes above and the increasingly obvious bonhomie between the “chalk and cheese” waiting staff and the diners, who as the place emptied and bills were paid, were at pains to ensure that tips were gratefully given and indeed graciously received.
We had reached the dessert stage, and the leisurely pace of service was potentially going to cause something of a problem, as Linda had her eye on the large chocolate gateaux which was rapidly diminishing in size, indeed there were three portions left when a table before us ordered two, leaving a solitary and rather enormous last piece on the plate. Thankfully, from Linda’s point, there were no other tables to order so when the waiter started on the list of desserts, barely had he time to say chocolate gateaux, just the one piece, than Linda had it ordered! For me the enormous cheeseboard had no such problem, with plenty left, and having already taken the lead from a lady at the next table decided to choose three pieces, but was quite tempted to have more when the waiter somewhat surprised asked if that was enough. After a noticeably small mouthful of Linda’s gateaux!, my meal finished as it begun with the most delicious mouthful of the creamiest of Camemberts! A most memorable of meals, in the most memorable of restaurants, and yes before you ask, by the most amazing of coincidences, we had stumbled totally by accident at the one recommended restaurant in the book, and an experience that led to this lengthy report – Egon Ronay never wrote such long reports!! If ever in Nîmes, be sure to find time for a meal, you won’t regret it, at:
Restaurant NICOLAS
MARTIN
1, Rue Poise
30000 NIMES
( 04.66.67.50.47 and no, sadly I’m not on commission!
Alors, c’est toute jusqu’a le temp prochain, à bientôt (Well, that’s all until the next time, see you soon.).
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and from Max ~ wouf, wouf
(au revoir et avez-vous un morceau de pain)
Coming up in the next instalment:
* Utilities ~ don’t you just love them!
* Birthday Boy ~ lunch in Monaco, as you do!
* Campsite lottery and the neighbours
Saturday, March 7, 2009
The Journey Begins ~ Missive 1
Roger, Linda and Max
Somewhere in France (at present on the south coast near Antibes)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Apologies for the length of this missive, but read what you want and leave the rest for after publication, as it may well form a chapter of the next book!!
Dear All
The Journey Begins
Well, two weeks gone already and the time has flown by, as everyone says, “don’t know how I found time to work before I retired!!”
Well we finally escaped the snow of England, just, on Sunday 8th February, somewhat loaded down with numerous clothes, a boot full of “work” of the pleasurable kind (writing, art, recipes to sort etc, as well as taking some wine back to France!!!) and bicycles on the roof to be overhauled at a suitable time, and carrying, rather strangely a “one-way” ticket. We then arrived in France, Calais to be precise a little earlier than expected as the put us on an earlier ferry, which in some ways was just as well, as the campsite was a bit out of the way and although “Ouvert toute année” was somewhat shut down, with no running water and only one toilet, the cistern of which was well lagged with numerous old coats! But the elderly lady who was running the site made us welcome let us park on the car park outside the loo, as the field was rather wet and filled up our water from the house. Fortunately, the electric was on and we managed to cook a meal, in reasonable warmth (to the initiated 6A of electricity doesn’t allow the heating et al. to be on fully!) and before the temperature plummeted to a point where the camping gas complained and went on a go slow. But more of that later.
After a good night’s sleep we once again hit the long road and using Route National (RN), made our way rather slowly to a camp site to the east of Paris, near Sézanne. Again an open site wasn’t really, with no water other than in the sinks of the toilet block and no lighting in the shower area, so we stayed dirty! We also nearly stayed cold as there were some difficulties sorting out the electricity and with an icy gale blowing up and struggling gas we might have had a very cold night, as well as noisy night, had we not sorted it out.
The next day’s journey was fortunately with the wind, as the gale hadn’t blown out during the night and not only did it seem to speed us up a little, but the petrol consumption was much better!, until we crossed a high barren area with swirls of snow and buffeting cross wind! It was all a bit reminiscence of our last time caravanning in France, in the summer two years ago!! Who said we were off to the sun?
We were a little anxious about the third site, allegedly open, but quite small and out of the way and they were the only site on the way “to the sun” that hadn’t confirmed our booking! However, we were expected and a very jovial Frenchman met us and started to tell us where he wanted us to pitch, and after a bit of rapid French he, much to his lasting amusement, asked us if we spoke English, before looking at the car, thumping his forehead and laughing with great gusto and repeating over and over again “fancy asking you if you speak English!!” At this site we also encountered the first other hardy couple who were holidaying in central France in February!! Here, near a place called Nolay, the jovial Frenchman informed us that snow was forecast for the morning, which we hoped would live up to the name of the place and not lay!!, but we awoke to a very heavy frost, flurries of wintry showers and no heating. So breakfast and packing up was a hasty affair involving lots of layers of clothing and the quick check as to what was wrong with the heating revealed nothing obvious, so we went on our way worrying about the next stop and resolving to sort out, over the three days we were there some better gas, that works efficiently in minus temperatures as it looked like we would need it for heating, rather a shame as the electricity we had booked was 10A, but at least we could use the electric kettle, hot water, fridge and maybe even resort to heating the van with Linda’s hairdryer!!
But having arrived at the site at Vaison de Romaine, a Roman themed site and one of those I imagine being hell on earth in the high season, we pitch on our rather muddy and shabby pitch surrounded by empty static caravans and to our considerable joy the electric heating worked! However, with night time temperatures still dipping below freezing, it meant that cooking the evening meal was a lengthy affair and the steaks were often very rare, we decided that different gas was required. After a pleasant morning looking around the local town and driving three quarters of the way up Mont Ventoux, to where temperatures plummeted to an icy minus 7 and the snowploughs had finally given up trying to shift the six feet of wonderful snow and the local were in their elements, making use of the mini ski-resort complete with ski lifts, toboggan runs and aprés-ski, we went to find the gas cylinder and appropriate fittings. We are now proud owners of a propane gas cube after a slight false start with the connector and having to take one back that didn’t fit. The lady on the till, who professed to speaking little English, spoke better English than the expert who she called, who also seemed to know little about gas pipes, tore open the packet so that we could check the ends, and his only bit of advice was “It might explode!!” Thankfully it fitted and didn’t explode and meals have become considerably quicker to prepare, albeit leisurely to consume!
This site did not overly impress us, as again it was largely shut down for winter the taps not working outside and neither were the outside lights. Water we got from the shower block that was heated but still in the process of being finished and with only barely warm showers. I was also horrified when asking where to empty the chemical closet (toilet to the uninitiated!!) was told to put it down a washing sink complete with grid over the plughole and no running water. It went down one of the toilets in the end, seemed the better option!!
After having had a restful couple of days of sunshine and without travelling and just looking around the immediate area, we hit the road once again for a shortish journey along the autoroute to the sun and indeed our lunch stop was warm enough to sit outside on one of the many aires (picnic spots) that are liberally dotted along French roads until the time comes for lunch and then you can’t find one!!
Early afternoon, surprised by the amount of out of season traffic we arrived at our site for the next two weeks, between Antibes and Cagnes sur Mer for the map watchers amongst you. At first, despite the sunshine and in part to do with the traffic jam we had just encountered along the coast road, we were a little disappointed, as the pitch was rather small and the site very busy, we had obviously got used to sole occupancy!! However, as the last week has gone by, it has grown on us and despite the beach being cut off by a railway line and really only accessible by car, it’s not a particularly nice beach and certainly it’s not beach weather, although the car thermometer did register 19ºC when we came back from the market at Antibes this morning. We thought about the Farmer’s Market in Stroud where we normally have been at that time. There is also a lovely country park wrapped around three sides of the campsite, where Max and I have our early morning walks and are even getting to know some of the regular joggers, dog walkers and the lady on the bicycle with two huskies pulling her along amidst so much cajoling, that I think she gets more exercise than the dogs!! So whilst in the south of France, with daytime temperatures often exceeding 15ºC and mostly pleasant sun and wall to wall blue sky, we have had a mixture of lazy days – reading, eating, drinking, snoozing, publishing (through the wonders of modern technology) the next edition of the Association of Countryside Volunteers (of which I’m absent Chair and Magazine Editor) Magazine, all done and emailed from the comfort of the caravan!!, and some trips out. And still the bikes, although now off the car – there are too many car parks with height restrictions around here and I was convinced we would forget them one day, it’s not so bad when we have the caravan in tow! – are still waiting for their overhaul, I have got as far as buying new inner tubes!!
The trips out have included trying unsuccessfully to visit Grasse, a pretty hillside village that we last passed through some years ago on route to Cannes. Then, there was so much traffic we kept going as we were in danger of not reaching Cannes before breakfast the next day, let alone lunch on this day. Once again, albeit out of season and February, we still failed to find somewhere to park and ended up driving out again, turning off the road back on a whim, La Colle sur Loup sounded rather romantic and proved to be a fantastic gorge and suddenly there above us was the most amazing hilltop village that we just had to find. A little while later we arrived, rather sadly at the same time as a coach load of American tourists – “gee, I must have a shot taken next to that statue (of a rather large nude fat lady), it’ll make me look so good!” However, the village was stunning and large enough to avoid the coach party who were led around crocodile-style and thankfully not at all crowded at this time – mid-week and out of season. Certainly, we felt it was the best time to look around the various art galleries and Max preferred not having to avoid too many legs, for him as well as us, I’m sure in the heat of the summer, heaving with tourists, for St Jean de Vence you could well read “hell on earth!”
Then we, again unsuccessfully, tried to visit Nice, but yes you’ve guessed it found it far from nice (!) and couldn’t park, escaped to the pleasant sanity of Cagnes sur Mer before returning to the caravan for lunch “avec vin” before catching a bus to discover the delights of old Antibes, the modern harbour full of the most staggeringly expensive yachts – quite how the other half lives, and the stunning Picasso Gallery housed in an old castle overlooking the sea. At this point Linda would point out that the building, not the artwork, was stunning, but she doesn’t appreciate, often loudly and in the wrong place!, the merits of modern art!!!
We have also had pleasant walks around the nearby villages of Biot, again on a hilltop and fairly quiet and Villeneuve Loubet, the birthplace of Auguste Escoffier, who for the uninitiated amongst you created such well known dishes as; peach melba, salade Tosca and tournedos Rossini and developed meals where each course arrives one after the other rather than all at once, as apparently used to be all the rage!! We have still to visit the museum named after him but hope to early next week.
Finally, yesterday we did a number of firsts. First, I took Linda and indeed Max on their first ever visits to Italy, where we visited a supposedly famous market, but much the same as that held on Cheltenham racecourse each week!, except for the food stalls bearing huge rings of parmesan and the azure coloured Mediterranean behind the stalls. Having walked the stalls, we got Max out of the car and went in search of food, ending up sitting outside a café behind glass screens that seemed to magnify the sun, watching the market goers stroll by with the Med behind them.
Eating out at a restaurant was certainly a first for Max, but he was more that happy to watch what was going on, receive the odd piece of bread and a piece of freshly cut Parmesan than fell for the table next door. This was occupied by two young couples, one English couple recently married and the other and English man and Italian girlfriend, who had bought a large salami and an enormous piece of cheese, which we hadn’t realised and thankfully neither had Max was on the floor, at her feet and perilously close to Max! However, she couldn’t wait to try it and produced it at the table and offered it around to her party as well as us. Once we knew it was there we were more careful where Max sniffed, but he had obviously got a liking for fresh Parmesan, as on the way back through the market he got one sniff of some dropped on the floor by a cheese stall and nearly wretched my arm off, and nearly sent a number of unsuspecting shoppers flying, in his quest to retrieve it! Max as you may have gathered has rather taken to his new traveller existence, hopping deftly in and out of the caravan, but finding the slippery plastic of the car more difficult, so now has his own anti-slip mat! He fair struts around the park, the hilltop villages and markets not wanting to miss out on anything, particularly all the new and exotic smells!!
The day ended with a trip back into France over the mountains, up and down several very twisty hairpin roads, finding quite the most delightful hilltop village yet. Piéne Haute quite literally hangs on a hillside, straggling a narrow ridge, overlooking the Italian border on one side and at this time of year the snow capped mountains above the Roya Valley on the other. It is quite simply a village lost in a time warp, if you ignore the satellite dishes, with narrow streets passing between tiny terracotta tiled houses that open to a miniscule village square with a small lamp lit chapel at one end and a primary school, seemingly unused on one side, with further roads and passage ways leading to an ornate church and all overlooked by the ramparts of a ruined castle. Apart from a elderly battered car and an even more elderly old lady sitting in the sunlit square, an older man carrying two old metal bed springs and two other couples also visiting the village there was nothing else; no shop, no bar, no sign of life and the streets that were barely wide enough to allow a car to pass, were so tight onto the front doors and windows of the haphazard houses, that you almost felt you were intruding into peoples houses and shouldn’t really be there. I couldn’t help but wonder two things; how do you get to live in such an amazingly idyllic place and what a great party you could have in the small square with all your neighbours, having barricaded off the approach roads, to avoid gatecrashers, first!!
Having climbed, in the car, to this village at 613 metres above sea level we negotiated another windy twisty road, not good on a very full four course lunch!, down into the large town of Sospel, nestling amongst the mountains and there originally as it was on the salt route from the coast, but now more a centre for mountain pursuits. It still however, had something of a backwater feel to it, and a couple of young children running over the bridge, as we passed, were amazed by a car with the steering wheel on the wrong side and giggled helplessly when I said a cheery “hello” out of the open driver’s window. However, although Nice was only about 30 kilometres away the best way back was to drive up another amazingly tortuous route over the Col de Braus at 1002 metres and down the other side. It was quite a culture shock to get back to civilisation and the tunnels and interconnecting viaducts of the amazingly engineered A8, the autoroute into Italy that we had travelled earlier in the day before encountering life from a past era.
Well that’s all for now folks, hopefully you’ll await the next missive with baited breath!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max!
Somewhere in France (at present on the south coast near Antibes)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Apologies for the length of this missive, but read what you want and leave the rest for after publication, as it may well form a chapter of the next book!!
Dear All
The Journey Begins
Well, two weeks gone already and the time has flown by, as everyone says, “don’t know how I found time to work before I retired!!”
Well we finally escaped the snow of England, just, on Sunday 8th February, somewhat loaded down with numerous clothes, a boot full of “work” of the pleasurable kind (writing, art, recipes to sort etc, as well as taking some wine back to France!!!) and bicycles on the roof to be overhauled at a suitable time, and carrying, rather strangely a “one-way” ticket. We then arrived in France, Calais to be precise a little earlier than expected as the put us on an earlier ferry, which in some ways was just as well, as the campsite was a bit out of the way and although “Ouvert toute année” was somewhat shut down, with no running water and only one toilet, the cistern of which was well lagged with numerous old coats! But the elderly lady who was running the site made us welcome let us park on the car park outside the loo, as the field was rather wet and filled up our water from the house. Fortunately, the electric was on and we managed to cook a meal, in reasonable warmth (to the initiated 6A of electricity doesn’t allow the heating et al. to be on fully!) and before the temperature plummeted to a point where the camping gas complained and went on a go slow. But more of that later.
After a good night’s sleep we once again hit the long road and using Route National (RN), made our way rather slowly to a camp site to the east of Paris, near Sézanne. Again an open site wasn’t really, with no water other than in the sinks of the toilet block and no lighting in the shower area, so we stayed dirty! We also nearly stayed cold as there were some difficulties sorting out the electricity and with an icy gale blowing up and struggling gas we might have had a very cold night, as well as noisy night, had we not sorted it out.
The next day’s journey was fortunately with the wind, as the gale hadn’t blown out during the night and not only did it seem to speed us up a little, but the petrol consumption was much better!, until we crossed a high barren area with swirls of snow and buffeting cross wind! It was all a bit reminiscence of our last time caravanning in France, in the summer two years ago!! Who said we were off to the sun?
We were a little anxious about the third site, allegedly open, but quite small and out of the way and they were the only site on the way “to the sun” that hadn’t confirmed our booking! However, we were expected and a very jovial Frenchman met us and started to tell us where he wanted us to pitch, and after a bit of rapid French he, much to his lasting amusement, asked us if we spoke English, before looking at the car, thumping his forehead and laughing with great gusto and repeating over and over again “fancy asking you if you speak English!!” At this site we also encountered the first other hardy couple who were holidaying in central France in February!! Here, near a place called Nolay, the jovial Frenchman informed us that snow was forecast for the morning, which we hoped would live up to the name of the place and not lay!!, but we awoke to a very heavy frost, flurries of wintry showers and no heating. So breakfast and packing up was a hasty affair involving lots of layers of clothing and the quick check as to what was wrong with the heating revealed nothing obvious, so we went on our way worrying about the next stop and resolving to sort out, over the three days we were there some better gas, that works efficiently in minus temperatures as it looked like we would need it for heating, rather a shame as the electricity we had booked was 10A, but at least we could use the electric kettle, hot water, fridge and maybe even resort to heating the van with Linda’s hairdryer!!
But having arrived at the site at Vaison de Romaine, a Roman themed site and one of those I imagine being hell on earth in the high season, we pitch on our rather muddy and shabby pitch surrounded by empty static caravans and to our considerable joy the electric heating worked! However, with night time temperatures still dipping below freezing, it meant that cooking the evening meal was a lengthy affair and the steaks were often very rare, we decided that different gas was required. After a pleasant morning looking around the local town and driving three quarters of the way up Mont Ventoux, to where temperatures plummeted to an icy minus 7 and the snowploughs had finally given up trying to shift the six feet of wonderful snow and the local were in their elements, making use of the mini ski-resort complete with ski lifts, toboggan runs and aprés-ski, we went to find the gas cylinder and appropriate fittings. We are now proud owners of a propane gas cube after a slight false start with the connector and having to take one back that didn’t fit. The lady on the till, who professed to speaking little English, spoke better English than the expert who she called, who also seemed to know little about gas pipes, tore open the packet so that we could check the ends, and his only bit of advice was “It might explode!!” Thankfully it fitted and didn’t explode and meals have become considerably quicker to prepare, albeit leisurely to consume!
This site did not overly impress us, as again it was largely shut down for winter the taps not working outside and neither were the outside lights. Water we got from the shower block that was heated but still in the process of being finished and with only barely warm showers. I was also horrified when asking where to empty the chemical closet (toilet to the uninitiated!!) was told to put it down a washing sink complete with grid over the plughole and no running water. It went down one of the toilets in the end, seemed the better option!!
After having had a restful couple of days of sunshine and without travelling and just looking around the immediate area, we hit the road once again for a shortish journey along the autoroute to the sun and indeed our lunch stop was warm enough to sit outside on one of the many aires (picnic spots) that are liberally dotted along French roads until the time comes for lunch and then you can’t find one!!
Early afternoon, surprised by the amount of out of season traffic we arrived at our site for the next two weeks, between Antibes and Cagnes sur Mer for the map watchers amongst you. At first, despite the sunshine and in part to do with the traffic jam we had just encountered along the coast road, we were a little disappointed, as the pitch was rather small and the site very busy, we had obviously got used to sole occupancy!! However, as the last week has gone by, it has grown on us and despite the beach being cut off by a railway line and really only accessible by car, it’s not a particularly nice beach and certainly it’s not beach weather, although the car thermometer did register 19ºC when we came back from the market at Antibes this morning. We thought about the Farmer’s Market in Stroud where we normally have been at that time. There is also a lovely country park wrapped around three sides of the campsite, where Max and I have our early morning walks and are even getting to know some of the regular joggers, dog walkers and the lady on the bicycle with two huskies pulling her along amidst so much cajoling, that I think she gets more exercise than the dogs!! So whilst in the south of France, with daytime temperatures often exceeding 15ºC and mostly pleasant sun and wall to wall blue sky, we have had a mixture of lazy days – reading, eating, drinking, snoozing, publishing (through the wonders of modern technology) the next edition of the Association of Countryside Volunteers (of which I’m absent Chair and Magazine Editor) Magazine, all done and emailed from the comfort of the caravan!!, and some trips out. And still the bikes, although now off the car – there are too many car parks with height restrictions around here and I was convinced we would forget them one day, it’s not so bad when we have the caravan in tow! – are still waiting for their overhaul, I have got as far as buying new inner tubes!!
The trips out have included trying unsuccessfully to visit Grasse, a pretty hillside village that we last passed through some years ago on route to Cannes. Then, there was so much traffic we kept going as we were in danger of not reaching Cannes before breakfast the next day, let alone lunch on this day. Once again, albeit out of season and February, we still failed to find somewhere to park and ended up driving out again, turning off the road back on a whim, La Colle sur Loup sounded rather romantic and proved to be a fantastic gorge and suddenly there above us was the most amazing hilltop village that we just had to find. A little while later we arrived, rather sadly at the same time as a coach load of American tourists – “gee, I must have a shot taken next to that statue (of a rather large nude fat lady), it’ll make me look so good!” However, the village was stunning and large enough to avoid the coach party who were led around crocodile-style and thankfully not at all crowded at this time – mid-week and out of season. Certainly, we felt it was the best time to look around the various art galleries and Max preferred not having to avoid too many legs, for him as well as us, I’m sure in the heat of the summer, heaving with tourists, for St Jean de Vence you could well read “hell on earth!”
Then we, again unsuccessfully, tried to visit Nice, but yes you’ve guessed it found it far from nice (!) and couldn’t park, escaped to the pleasant sanity of Cagnes sur Mer before returning to the caravan for lunch “avec vin” before catching a bus to discover the delights of old Antibes, the modern harbour full of the most staggeringly expensive yachts – quite how the other half lives, and the stunning Picasso Gallery housed in an old castle overlooking the sea. At this point Linda would point out that the building, not the artwork, was stunning, but she doesn’t appreciate, often loudly and in the wrong place!, the merits of modern art!!!
We have also had pleasant walks around the nearby villages of Biot, again on a hilltop and fairly quiet and Villeneuve Loubet, the birthplace of Auguste Escoffier, who for the uninitiated amongst you created such well known dishes as; peach melba, salade Tosca and tournedos Rossini and developed meals where each course arrives one after the other rather than all at once, as apparently used to be all the rage!! We have still to visit the museum named after him but hope to early next week.
Finally, yesterday we did a number of firsts. First, I took Linda and indeed Max on their first ever visits to Italy, where we visited a supposedly famous market, but much the same as that held on Cheltenham racecourse each week!, except for the food stalls bearing huge rings of parmesan and the azure coloured Mediterranean behind the stalls. Having walked the stalls, we got Max out of the car and went in search of food, ending up sitting outside a café behind glass screens that seemed to magnify the sun, watching the market goers stroll by with the Med behind them.
Eating out at a restaurant was certainly a first for Max, but he was more that happy to watch what was going on, receive the odd piece of bread and a piece of freshly cut Parmesan than fell for the table next door. This was occupied by two young couples, one English couple recently married and the other and English man and Italian girlfriend, who had bought a large salami and an enormous piece of cheese, which we hadn’t realised and thankfully neither had Max was on the floor, at her feet and perilously close to Max! However, she couldn’t wait to try it and produced it at the table and offered it around to her party as well as us. Once we knew it was there we were more careful where Max sniffed, but he had obviously got a liking for fresh Parmesan, as on the way back through the market he got one sniff of some dropped on the floor by a cheese stall and nearly wretched my arm off, and nearly sent a number of unsuspecting shoppers flying, in his quest to retrieve it! Max as you may have gathered has rather taken to his new traveller existence, hopping deftly in and out of the caravan, but finding the slippery plastic of the car more difficult, so now has his own anti-slip mat! He fair struts around the park, the hilltop villages and markets not wanting to miss out on anything, particularly all the new and exotic smells!!
The day ended with a trip back into France over the mountains, up and down several very twisty hairpin roads, finding quite the most delightful hilltop village yet. Piéne Haute quite literally hangs on a hillside, straggling a narrow ridge, overlooking the Italian border on one side and at this time of year the snow capped mountains above the Roya Valley on the other. It is quite simply a village lost in a time warp, if you ignore the satellite dishes, with narrow streets passing between tiny terracotta tiled houses that open to a miniscule village square with a small lamp lit chapel at one end and a primary school, seemingly unused on one side, with further roads and passage ways leading to an ornate church and all overlooked by the ramparts of a ruined castle. Apart from a elderly battered car and an even more elderly old lady sitting in the sunlit square, an older man carrying two old metal bed springs and two other couples also visiting the village there was nothing else; no shop, no bar, no sign of life and the streets that were barely wide enough to allow a car to pass, were so tight onto the front doors and windows of the haphazard houses, that you almost felt you were intruding into peoples houses and shouldn’t really be there. I couldn’t help but wonder two things; how do you get to live in such an amazingly idyllic place and what a great party you could have in the small square with all your neighbours, having barricaded off the approach roads, to avoid gatecrashers, first!!
Having climbed, in the car, to this village at 613 metres above sea level we negotiated another windy twisty road, not good on a very full four course lunch!, down into the large town of Sospel, nestling amongst the mountains and there originally as it was on the salt route from the coast, but now more a centre for mountain pursuits. It still however, had something of a backwater feel to it, and a couple of young children running over the bridge, as we passed, were amazed by a car with the steering wheel on the wrong side and giggled helplessly when I said a cheery “hello” out of the open driver’s window. However, although Nice was only about 30 kilometres away the best way back was to drive up another amazingly tortuous route over the Col de Braus at 1002 metres and down the other side. It was quite a culture shock to get back to civilisation and the tunnels and interconnecting viaducts of the amazingly engineered A8, the autoroute into Italy that we had travelled earlier in the day before encountering life from a past era.
Well that’s all for now folks, hopefully you’ll await the next missive with baited breath!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max!
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