Provence

This post is well overdue but is worth the effort

It is about 9.20pm on Tuesday evening (22/9), we have just finished a delightful meal of poached salmon (etc) accompanied by a more than acceptable bottle of Brut Rose (a bubbly from Burgundy) from Leonce Bocquet (sounds like we should have paid much more than 5 euros at the supermarket but then this is France). We arrived home in Lodeve just 2 hours ago from a delightful couple of days full of unexpected surprises.

We set out very early yesterday (well early for us – 6.30am) with the objective of getting our travelling companions (Denis & Kit Cherry) to Nice by late afternoon where they will be catching a plane to Italy on Wednesday. We started well, getting away on time, but it quickly went pear-shaped when I missed a road-sign that I should never miss, which meant that we were well on the way to Barcelona (to the south when we should have been going east then north), before I realized my stuff-up. And then the “back-track option” I chose was also less than ideal meaning that by the time we had negotiated Montpellier (a challenge at any time) we or should I say I, had blown at least an hour of our valuable time, and we were well and truly involved in the early rush hour.

We had decided that we wanted to go via Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, quite a diversion from the fastest route to Nice, but we really wanted to share Moustiers with Den & Kit. It remains our favourite village in France after we stopped there in 2005, just for lunch, at the recommendation of the guide book Gaye was reading at the time, but as it eventuated stayed for 2 nights. Moustiers is very special – it is classified “Un des Plus Beaux Village de France” which means it’s special qualities are officially recognized, and which of course means it attracts a lot of tourists (oh well!).

A view of Moustiers

Anyway we arrived at Moustiers in time for lunch, even if a bit later than planned, after an interesting, and often very beautiful drive of about 5.5 hours duration. In this part of France an average of 50-60 kms per hour is normal for those who like to avoid the motorways as much as possible – which we definitely do. Gaye had her heart set on a special table at a special restaurant – “Les Trielles Muscate” which is where we had lunch back in 2005, and we managed to achieve her goal. The restaurant is superbly located in the middle of Moustiers, perched on the edge of the small gorge that bisects the village, and is highly rated by travel writers. We enjoyed a superb three-course lunch with a bottle of local rose (nicely chilled), and then after an hour of exploring the village we set off for Nice which should have been just 2 hours away. Some less than average navigation (won’t mention the navigator) meant that it was nearly 3 hours before we set our passengers down (and said goodbye to our travelling companions of the last 3 weeks), in the middle of Nice.

Gayes favourite restaurant

Over lunch I had suggested to Gaye that instead of driving all the way back to Lodeve as planned (3.5 – 4 hours) we should return to Moustiers and spend a night there in the same delightful Chambres d’Hote (B&B) that we had discovered in 2005. We managed to secure a room but not the one we had last time – this one, on the second floor was even nicer. The plan was that we would return to Moustiers via Castellane (another beautiful village where we had stayed in 2005) and the magnificent Grand Canyon du Verdon (which we had only partially explored in 2005), using the quickest route possible between Nice and Castellane. Gaye’s navigation however sent us on an entirely different, and much more circuitous route that threatened to really challenge our schedule. At first, after realizing the mistake, I was less than impressed, but that quickly changed as we were confronted by the truly magnificent spectacle of the Defile du Chaudan (the gorges of the River Var which empties into the Mediterranean near Nice), a drive that cannot be adequately described in words or in man-made photographs – simply STUNNING. The next 3.5 hours were as good a driving experience as we have ever had in France or anywhere else. The last section, through the Grand Canyon du Verdon, of 45 kilometres between Castellane and Moustiers, was done in fading and finally disappearing light. Rather than this be a disappointment, it presented the magnificent gorge in an entirely different light that was quite magical.

A few images from our drive back to Moustiers from Nice follow:

After a quiet and restful night in Moustiers, and a classic French breakfast brought to our room by the Madame de la Chambre d’Hote, we set off for Lodeve by mid morning having planned a route that was almost entirely new to us. We drove through the Luberon region of Provence (made famous by Peter Mayle in his books on an expatriate Pom’s life in Provence), full of contrasting but always delightful landscapes.

We stopped in several small villages along the way, the highlights being Saignon (where the Australian author Henrietta Taylor has made her home – we rang her and had a little chat while we sipped a coffee next to one of her houses), Rousillon and Gordes. All of these villages are rated as “Un des Plus Beaux Villages de France”, and as far as we are concerned thoroughly deserve the title.

Gordes in particular, where we stopped for lunch, is superb, and now rivals Moustiers in our personal ratings. We must go back there with more time to explore and experience. A few images taken of and in Gordes follow:

Once we left Gordes, the rest of the journey was less spectacular bit still contained many highlights including the longest avenue of trees we have yet seen in France, and that is saying something because France is full of superb avenues of plane trees. This one must have been 5 or 6 kilometres long, just before St Remy de Provence (where Vincent van Gogh spent time in an asylum while living in nearby Arles). Two days, 1050 kilometres and nearly 20 hours of driving after leaving, we arrived back in Lodeve at about 7.30pm. Whew!

A few facts + figures

For those who are numbers oriented, or who have asked questions about the price of things here in France, here are just a few answers.

We have had the car for 30 days as of today (Thursday 8th Oct)
We have driven more than 6800 kms in that time (an average of 230 kms per day).
On the motorways (“A” roads) where the speed limit is mostly 130 we average nearly 120 kms per hour of driving, however we mostly avoid these instead preferring the national (“N”) roads or Departmental (“D”) roads.
On the minor roads we struggle to average 55 kilometres per hour of driving, but we see and experience so much more.
Our car is a Peugeot 308SW diesel from which we get nearly 1000kms per tank of fuel (averaging nearly 20kms per litre.
We have paid between 0.91 and 1.15 euros per litre for diesel or “gazole”. Cheapest fuel is always at supermarkets while the most expensive is in the many roadside stops (“aires”) on the motorways.
Unleaded petrol ranges from 1.14 to about 1.30.

The all important wine purchases are very inexpensive. On average we are paying between 2.50 and 4.50 for a bottle of more than acceptable red or white from most supermarkets.
A decent bottle of champagne can be obtained for as little as 15 euros, while Moet is about 26. Cheap but quaffable Methode de Champenoise can cost as little as 4.50.
Alcohol generally is cheap in the supermarkets e.g. a bottle of gin from 6 euros, Baileys 10-11, Cointreau about 13 etc. A dozen small stubbies of beer (330ml) can cost less than 4 euros.

Most processed food items seem to be marked about the same as in Perth, but of course in euros rather than dollars so are therefore 50-70% dearer. Fruit & veges are cheaper and generally better. Soft drinks seem much more expensive than at home, but we never buy them so I am not sure. Really nice pastries of many kinds cost between about 0.60 and 2 euros.

Cheeses (Fromage) are probably cheaper than at home but it is difficult to do a direct comparison. The choice is mind-boggling. France is reputed to have more than 400 different styles of cheese, and our major supermarket seems to stock most of them.

The food staples are probably a bit cheaper e.g.
1 litre fresh milk 0.90
Bread A large baguette costs between 0.30 and 0.60
A dozen eggs From about 1.50

Accommodation is probably not that much different to Australia (with the notable exception of Paris). A room for two in a good Chambres d’Hote (B&B) will cost from 45-65 euros. Two or three star hotels are in the range 50-75 euros with breakfast extra (usually 7-10 euros each).

Entrance fees to museums and other places of interest are generally cheap by European standards (much cheaper than our previous experiences in the UK). We have paid between 3 and about 9 euros for various places.

Some things are ridiculously cheap but usually for a good (often environmental) reason e.g. as mentioned before we can park our car all day in a parking station at the end of a tram line in Montpellier (medium sized city), and get a return tram ticket for every person in the vehicle into the centre of the city (1/2 hour journey), for only 4 euros. And in Montpellier we can rent a good quality bike for just 1 euro per day.

Music CD's and Movie DVD's are more expensive than at home. CD's cost between 20 and 30 euros, while DVD's look to be in the 20-35 euro range.

Hardware (of the Bunnings kind) seems very expensive e.g. a small pair of pliers will cost 12-15 euros. The cheap Chinese imports do not seem to have made it here.

Hope this helps you appreciate the cost of living in France.

Spain - San Sebastien

After a very pleasant day and a half in Bilbao we headed back to San Sebastien, a place we have long wanted to visit. The drive back was interesting to say the least. We decided to avoid the motorway on the return journey as time was not an issue, but I underestimated the need for a map. We had actually driven to Spain without a Spanish road map (or a GPS) – not a challenge if you use the motorways and can read the ample signage – but get on the N and D roads, amongst the frequent little villages, and you quickly reminded why maps were invented. We were also thrown of the scent by the names San Sebastien and Donostia being used interchangeably. What our limited reading had not told us is that the Basque name for San Sebastien is Donostia. Once we had worked that out, and circumnavigated many roundabouts multiple times while we assessed the correct exit, we finally made it into SS The next challenge was finding the pension we had booked, which we knew was in the Parte Vieja or “old town” and that it was highly unlikely we could get the car anywhere close. Somehow we did get close (without realizing it), decided to stop and ask directions at a little bookshop, after parking illegally. After a bit of fun with the shop owner, and his customer who both got involved, it turned out we were only 100m from our destination, so my homing instinct had worked again.

The pension, Lonely Planets “authors choice”, was in the oldest building in San Sebastien. It was quaint but certainly no more than 1 star. A tiny bedroom with a bed about 25cm too short for me, so my feet hung out over the end while sleeping, and a shared bathroom. However the mattress was OK, the sheets clean, no-one else was using the bathroom that we did, and it was superbly located, so for just a 2 night stay Lonely Planet did not really let us down.

San Sebastien is stunningly beautiful seaside city of just under 200,000 inhabitants, built around 2 large bays, one with a narrow entrance guarded by a small island, surrounded by mountains and divided roughly in half by a picturesque river, the Rio Urumea. Its 3 famous “playas” or beaches are reminiscent of several Sydney beaches including Bondi. Since the 19th century it has been a favourite summer destination for the Spanish elite, including the royal family we are told. Its character is enhanced by the existence of an active fishing fleet that ties up very close to the old town. Lots of similarities with Fremantle, just more geographically spectacular. In fact on one of our many walks I was waxing lyrical about SS and said to Gaye “I could easily live in a place like this” – she said “you do” - I said “you’re right”….and she was!

SS is also renowned as the culinary capital of Spain, if not Europe, with more Michelin stars per head of population than any other city in the world, and a concentration of tapas bars in the old town greater than any other in Spain, and that is saying something. Needless to say our time in SS was dominated by much walking, with frequent interruptions for pintxos, beer and txacoli (the traditional Basque wine). The tapas here are actually pintxos, the Basque version of tapas, with bread playing a dominant role. Every establishment displays its pintxos on uncovered plates set out along the bar, with typically 20-30 different choices. Usually the customer is given a plate and walks along selecting the pintxos they want, order a drink and then part with their money. The pintxos very in price from about 1.5 – 3.5 euros each, a small beer 2 and a large beer about 3.5. It is actually a very unhygienic process that our over-zealous public health authorities would never allow in Oz.

We believe this fabulous city would appeal to anybody and everybody we know, and have no hesitation in saying “add it to your European itinerary” (and don’t forget Bilbao while you are here).

Some images of San Sebastien for your enjoyment:

The magnificent Guggenheim Museum

A modern wonder of the world.

Spain - Bilbao

Sunday 27th September

Imagine this if you will.

We are sitting on a café terrace, overlooking one of the world’s GREAT modern buildings. It is early evening, the sun has disappeared but has left some of its light behind, with a partial moon now fully visible waiting for its turn. The weather is perfect, clear sky, no breeze and about 20 degrees. There is a very good 3 piece jazz band playing just a few metres away while we enjoy a cold and refreshing drink in the company of many other people enjoying the experience. The building in front of us is starting to take on a whole new character as the light changes. This is not one of my fantasies – this is real – this is us in Bilbao in the Basque region of Spain, in a Sunday evening, taking the time to reflect on our visit today to the Guggenheim Museum. What a building, what a place, what an experience.

The next couple of photos give just a taste of what we have .seen today. I will post a separate blog with more photos. For more information about the Guggenheim Bilbao check out http://www.guggenheim-bilbao.es/?idioma=en

We arrived in Bilbao this morning (Sunday) after a long (9+ hours) drive from Lodeve, most of which we did yesterday. We have come to Spain for a few days because another couple are using our apartment for 5 days on their way back to Australia after a trip on the Canal Midi.

Our main destination was, and is San Sebastien, where we will be going tomorrow, but we have wanted to see this museum since it was first opened in 1997. We have not been disappointed, in fact we have been blown away by it. It may be not everybody’s taste in architecture, but to us it is magnificent. Where does architecture end and art begin? Or is architecture art?

Apart from the Guggenheim, the whole Bilbaon experience has been a very positive one, with the city far exceeding our expectations, admittedly based on insufficient pre-reading. It is a city of more than 350,000 people, located in a strategic part of the Spanish Basque region, that has had a major re-birth over the past 10-15 years, particularly after the completion of the Guggenheim. It should be on the agenda of every visitor to Spain – we will be back. A quick look at some of Bilbao follows:

Funniest incident

As always on a trip like this, travelling through unfamiliar countries with inadequate language skills, there have been many amusing, and some downright funny moments. The pick of the bunch for me happened in Berlin, several weeks ago. To set the scene, you may remember that I have commented in earlier blogs, how few Americans seem to be travelling in Europe this year, and how that has made it better for us.

We were in the Reichstag (German Parliament building), after lining up outside for a while, negotiating a very tight security net and entering the lift that will take us (and another 30 or so people) up to the dome. The lift was being contrary for some reason, and the door would not close. The security man escorting us got out, got back in, got out, got back in and so on…but still it would not close, the man was getting a bit agitated, as were a couple of the punters.

In my attempt to lighten the atmosphere I said “Houston we have a problem” in a weak attempt at an American accent.

Immediately I got a response. From behind me a slightly miffed voice with a classic Texan drawl said, “In Houston we don’t have problems we only have opportunities”.

Back in your box Ron.

Most embarrassing moment

I am going to publish this now as I cannot imagine that we will have another more embarrassing moment on this journey.

A couple of days ago we took my brother Garry and his wife Jan to Les Baux, a stunning hilltop village and chateau remains about 180kms from Lodeve (more about Les Baux later).

After visiting the village we returned to our car intent on driving down to Cassis, on the Mediterranean, so that Garry could fulfill his ambition to swim in that sea. As we pulled away from the carpark I noticed the fuel tank was only half full, and the digital display was showing only 400kms left. This was a (puzzling) concern as I had filled the car that morning so there should have been 80% of the fuel left.

We drove on, with me thinking that the fuel level sensor would catch up after a kilometer or two, but it didn’t. About 5 or 6 kms on we decided to stop and look for evidence of a leak. Garry and I both looked under the car and sure enough there were large drops of liquid falling on the ground, from somewhere in the engine compartment – “Sacre Blue” we have a leak! We lifted the bonnet but could not see anything (the Peugeot has a very compact engine compartment), so I decided I should ring the Peugeot 24 hour roadside assistance service which we were entitled to do. As both of our French mobiles had run out of credit we had no choice but to drive on until we found a public phone box. We weren’t far from the major town of Arles so thought it would not be difficult to find the Peugeot service agent there.

However 10kms short of Arles we went through the small village of Fontvieille, and saw a phone-box right alongside a convenient carpark. It was starting to get late in the day so thought the sooner I made contact with the roadside assistance the better for everybody – so we stopped. I made the call which was answered by a very polite and patient Frenchman with quite acceptable English language skills. After asking me lots of questions about who I was, what car we had etc., I had to try and tell him where we were – exactly! It took him at least 5 minutes to locate the village, based on my spelling which unfortunately was slightly astray. I kept leaving out the second “I”, and neither of us could understand why Google was not coming up with the answer. Eventually we got it sorted, and he assured me he would have a mechanic there within the hour, who would try to resolve the problem on the spot; if not the vehicle would be towed into Arles, and if necessary we would be given a replacement car. All good – I thought, so we wandered off to find a café in what turned out to be a pretty little village. After a while I left the others and returned to the car in case the mechanic turned up without phoning first (I could still receive phone calls on my exhausted SIM card).

I got the call a little while later, this time from an impolite and impatient Frenchman who did not have a word of English, and I was struggling with his aggressively delivered French. He was in a tow truck and trying to find us. Somehow I managed to direct him to the carpark, and he proceeded to lift the car straight onto the truck without having a look at the “problem” first. He turned out to be just a tow truck driver, not a mechanic. He was a big dark guy (second row forward I reckon) with a classic Gallic face sporting a permanent scowl. He was quite agitated as it was late and he needed to get us back to the garage before it closed. We were having a difficult time communicating, but eventually we understood that the 4 of us had to pile in the cab with him – interesting. Gaye reckoned she has always wanted to ride in a tow truck. We had many laughs on the way into Arles, some at the drivers expense so we were hoping his lack of English was not just a ploy.We arrived at the very conveniently located garage that we could have very easily found if we had just kept going earlier and thus avoided all the drama. There was only one person left there, and he had zero English as well, so describing the “problem” clearly was challenging. Once he understood he asked me to reverse the car a bit so he could examine the puddle on the ground left by the “leak”. It was only very small but he dipped his finger in and had a smell (and taste) – it was water. He excitedly (in classic French style) told me it was simply condensation from the air conditioner, which of course I did not accept because it was clear that we had lost nearly half a tank of fuel, and the filler cap had NOT been interfered with. I lay on the ground to have a close-up sniff myself – and then VERY sheepishly got back on my feet accepting that it was not a puddle of diesel fuel (“gazole”). But why was the fuel gauge giving an incorrect reading? Guess what, as we drove away with our tails firmly between our legs, the digital display was telling us we had 780kms left in the tank, and the gauge was miraculously now showing more than 3/4. Perhaps getting the car on and off the truck had somehow disturbed the fuel in the tank enough to kick the sensor into action. I think the truck driver and the garage man will dine out for years on the story of the “crazy incompetent Englishman with absolutely no knowledge of automotive technology”. I had not let it be known that we were Aussies.

Apart from my acute embarrassment, the fallout from this incident, meant that Garry missed his longed for swim in the Med, and we missed a special dinner that Samir was going to cook for us that night.