FRANCE 2022 PART 4
I think I left you saying farewell to Brittany and Mia’s garden.
I suppose that we can never really know another country - or even our own for that matter. Between Bob Dylan’s lyrics and reading Graves’ Greek Myths on the beach this morning, I wonder if we ever really know anything or if we go through life taking Maverick’s advice - ‘don’t think, just act’. Yes, we watched the new Top Gun last night. In that spirit, having had all of 2 hours sleep, it was ‘just drive’. So we drove until we got to Marans. Mainly N roads, I think, with some tolls, but it’s all a bit of a blur now. It got hotter as we went south, and I have a vague memory of sitting at the back of a gas station, eating a cheese salad baguette, with a great view of the industrial bins. This trip was intended to be a recovery holiday for Al, and a kind of recce, in case we want to swap Crete for France, or try for a mix of the two. (More of that when we get home.)
By now, it’s 14 July, Bastille day. We expected to see at least some local fireworks, but these had been cancelled due to the fire risk. The drought and hot temperatures have, I think, shaken France to its core, and from the point of view of a recce, the prospect of more intense and frequent heatwaves is probably enough to keep us North of the Loire.
We had some Snork Maiden business with Benoit, the operator of the boatyard. Although we had triple confirmed a meeting on the 15th, he was nowhere to be seen. I hope he was lying under a hedge somewhere with an appalling absinthe hangover, but he was probably just celebrating with his family. I now know how the French have embraced the concept of ‘bourgeoisie’ in the way that the Scandinavians have ‘hygge’.
rWe made contact with the ‘new’ harbourmaster in Marans, oddly named Sébastien, the same as the ‘old’ harbourmaster (see much earlier blogs for more about him). I think he’s now driving a dredger out of the oyster port on the Baie d’Aguillon. Maybe he got fed up with the whims of visiting yachties, and cleaning the shower block on the staff’s day off. I am not good at faces, and at first thought he might have bleached his hair, worked out at the gym and had plastic surgery. He listened sympathetically to our story of nautical woe, and gave us a couple of useful contacts. Marans is 10K from Charron and they are connected by a river, a lock and a canal, so word gets about quite quickly. It’s my hope that someone will take pity on the Snork Maiden in her distress, and lovingly bring her back to a seagoing life.
It was SO hot on the boatyard that all we could do was shift a few items around, conclude that the reliably unreliable Benoit was not going to show and head into La Rochelle to collect my news bank card from HSBC. We had been here only 3 weeks before, but now the French holiday season was in full flood. Previously accessible car parks were overflowing with a slow trail of cars hunting for spaces, watching for signs of prey, carrying keys. Not helped by the drive in Covid test centre (yes, my friends, despite the French being apparently in total denial, there was still a significant level of infection, as in the rest of Europe and the UK. Managed to leave this car park and pop into a free one opposite the bank. Through the door in the nick of time. Relief, soon followed by disbelief and annoyance as the chap behind the counter repeatedly searched the branch (it’s small) to no avail. Some tapping on computer keyboard, some sighing. I was pleased that I could be quite assertive in French, although not pleased about the card. We had a coffee in one of the posher cafes in Place Verdun and headed back to Marans. Tomorrow we head South again, destination Montaubon, just North of Toulouse.
A long, hot day. Montaubon looks interesting and Al catches sight of an acrobat performing on a water spout as we drive across a bridge. Sort of rundown in parts but also a thriving city. It is still hot. We picnic in the IBIS car park and sleep in an air conditioned room. First time in a bed for at least a month. It’s strange.
In the morning I reverse into a car whilst leaving the carpark. No damage to the other car but we crack the rear bumper a bit. Another driver helpfully tells us that it is captured on his webcam. We go back and have a look at the other car. It is fine. We drive on, towards the Pyrenees.
Tonight’s stop is Ax-les-Thermes. A rather grim but cheap AirBnb. We have an OK pizza in the town, which. Is pretty, although I can’t imagine wanting to stay there if I wasn’t on the way to somewhere else.
Morning, and we are on the road, via a cafe in Ax for a quick coffee and checking in to see if they found my pink parasol, left there 5 weeks ago. I am amazed now at how fast the trip has gone. The first 3 days seemed to last forever, then time sped up.
Excitement! Fire has closed some of our route over the Pyrenees to Barcelona. It is a beautiful drive, and this time we take a seriously twisty ascending mountain route, up with the ski resorts and with an ‘on top of the world’ feeling. Fabulous. Not even possible to capture with photos, you just have to be there. Not a drive for the faint hearted.
And suddenly, we were in Spain! We emerge onto a bit of a Spanish plain and, needing lunch, turn off into the nearest town, Vic. We parked underground and ate lunch in a square, reminiscent of Barcelona or Madrid. Patatas bravas, black rice with squid for me, and fish for Al. More of that later. Maybe. Very Catalan and triggered a lot of memories of life in Barcelona. It is still HOT. We are thankful that we fixed the car’s AC.
Arriving at the port, after a lot of searching for a) something to eat and b) the ticket office, we realise we don’t have a cabin. Al gets on board as a foot passenger, to be first at the purser’s desk, to see if we can get a cabin, last minute. Not a chance. I go back to the hell hole that is car deck 2 (unbelievably terrible signage, lift not working, huge lorries to negotiate) but I eventually emerge with our sleeping bags. After an unmemorable supper, we fight for a place on deck. A pile of sunbeds are roped up. A young and fit looking bloke unties them and there follows a free for all. Al, being quite tall secures one, and I, being much smaller, fight a blond haired Spanish matron for possession of another. Readers, I triumphed. So there we were, on deck, in a warm Mediterranean night, comfortable ensconced on sunbeds, and cosily tucked into sleeping bags with a gentle wind crossing the deck. A perfect night’s sleep.
I will mainly draw a veil over the next day of discomfort. I had picked up a stomach bug somewhere in the last 24 hours. I occupied various territories in the boat (full of teens, mostly heading for Sardinia) mainly sleeping on the floor and sipping water, occasionally searching for unoccupied toilets (Grimaldi have a strange idea of what an adequate supply of female bathrooms might be). Enough. I was worried that I might not feel up to driving when we docked in Italy around an hour before sunset. Al was consoling, telling me that we could find a hotel. But by the time we disembarked all was well and we headed for our week’s AirBnb in Spoleto.
The AirBnb and Spoleto turned out to be a real treat. I had intended it to be a rest, and it was. Still in the grip of mid 30C heatwave, but the apartment and the town didn’t disappoint. Nothing to do except rest up, read, eat, a little exploration. And there were cats!
A visit to the MONSTER PARK. another to MONTEFALCO (for the church art), a bit of gentle exploration and cafe experiences in Spoleto, visits to the local small supermarket, and we were done. Perfect re-charge time.
After a week of Umbrian calm, we are off again, headed to Ancona to pick up yet another ferry bound for Patras. (We knew nothing of the stop at Corfu). Certain this time that we had a cabin - Duh! Close inspection of the tickets showed that this was not the case. But at least this time, we knew exactly what to do. Get the airbeds and warm sleeping bags and settle down for a night on deck. Find a secluded spot where we are not going to get trodden on. Perfect spot with a view! I tried for a cabin but the well-organised list closed just before the purser got to my name. There was a woman travelling with a cat. I was glad that she got a cabin, even if we didn’t. This was a Minoan Lines ferry, far better organised than Grimaldi (Italian). We had a great supper in the full service restaurant. Not at all inexpensive, but outdid the self-service by several stars. A very good bottle of wine and we retired to our outdoor accommodation.
After unloading the teens in Sardinia, things got a lot quieter for the next leg to Patras. We passed island after island, including Ithaca.
Landing at Patras in the afternoon, we took it easy along the coast road, stopping for a cold drink at a beachside taverna with a view down into crystal water of the Gulf of Patras. Feeling like home to me. Of course there was still one last ferry to go, to get us from Piraeus to Crete. Athenian traffic a bit intimidating and I mistakenly followed a friendly sign saying Piraeus, quite overlooking the fact that Piraeus is a district as well as a port! The port gate we needed seemed to be closed so we crawled along parallel to the sea until we could get in - at least somewhere. It happened to be next to the ferry office we needed, so Al was able to check us in, and get a blessed cabin key. The ferry was quiet, our cabin easily accessible from the bar. All we had to do was go to bed, and wake up in Crete. Phew! Over 5000 Km in 7 weeks and now we are almost home.
COMING SOON: August in Kissamos - will I ever catch up with myself?