Aug 2008

Leaving the villa, and off to Nice airport again to farewell Josh’s parents. It was sad to say goodbye to all of the family over these two days, as they’d been such a big part of our holiday up until this point, and it was going to be quite strange without them. Catching a bus to the train station in Nice, our plan was to book tickets to Geneva for the Monday, where we were meeting Andrew to start the big trip, and also train to San Remo for the day, as Mike had told us that the markets on Saturdays are the most incredible markets he’s ever been to (and we do love markets…). After the nightmare of trying to book tickets to Geneva, which the server at the station first mistook as Genova, and had we not realised when she gave us the tickets, we would have been stranded in Italy… we became increasingly aware that we should have booked tickets a bit earlier, not that we’d had much of a chance. All of the direct lines were full, and so we ended up having to take the train from Villefranche to Vintemille to Milan to Geneva (so after all that we do end up in Italy anyway). It did turn a six or seven hour trip into a ten or so hour trip, but at least we could get there.

We rushed to try and make our train to San Remo after all of the kafuffle with tickets, and ended up running to the platform and reaching it as the train pulled out of the station. We did make the next one, but it broke down for 10 minutes along the way, and just as we thought we’d missed our connection to San Remo, that train was also delayed by an hour… So, we finally arrived in Italy, and even though you read about these famous markets throughout any guidebook that mentions San Remo, no local seemed to know where they were. We started chatting to a guy who wasn’t sure where to go, but gave us as much information as he could, and then made room in his car with his wife and daughter for us so he could drop us in the general area. Very nice people, who insisted we must try the stuffed focaccias. While also trying to attempt speaking in Italian (which is even worse than our French), we finally found someone who knew what we were talking about, but told us they had finished for the day. Well, we weren’t going to win them all, so tried to make the best out of the situation by setting off on a quest to find some authentic Italian food to take back to Villefranche for dinner (yet again, not really knowing what we were actually ordering).

Firstly, Josh tried the recommended focaccias which were filled with mixtures of vegetables, proscuitto and cheeses, and I tried some authentic Italian gelato, which may have been the best gelato ever, given that I was so hot and it was so refreshing. We found a very sweet woman in a pasta store, that couldn’t speak too much English but definitely understood what ‘mwah!’ meant, when we were looking for fantastic pasta to try. We walked away with some fresh ravioli, olive-filled tomato pasta sauce, and some fresh mozzarella and tomatoes for a salad, and then it was basically time to catch our train. Or so we thought, but this one was also delayed… We’ve met some very friendly and helpful locals along the way though who don’t hesitate to help us, especially when they find out we’re from New Zealand, and home of the All Blacks. We finally made it back to Mike’s as night fell and devoured the delicious pasta.

Each day at the villa seemed to merge into the next, and a lot of time was spent swimming in the pool, taking trips to the bakery for breakfast, reading books, playing games of 500 or pentanque, eating and drinking… Every day was between 29 and 35 degrees, and quite often that led to an afternoon siesta in the heat of the day. The first full day was a Sunday, and this was all we did, and just what we all needed, and Daniel and Katherine’s last night was spent with more singing, more music, and more wine.

The next day was Bastille Day, and the morning was spent with a farewell to Daniel and Katherine, and then more of the same really. We had heard that there would be a big fireworks demonstration later in the town centre, so decided to have a meal out in town before immersing ourselves in some French festivities. A small French beer brewery that served simple cuisine managed to draw us in, and we took a table in the alleyway outside, before the boys were offered a tour of the brewery (which was really just a basement with a huge vat in it). The girls stayed upstairs and encountered a crazy drunk woman, who insisted speaking at as, not to us, in French, even though we’d said we didn’t understand… we think she was trying to tell us to go and look at how they brew the beer, so gave in and went downstairs, but slightly deterred by the strange smell, the heat, and a general disinterest in beer, came back up and made a job of ignoring her instead.

The meals were a nice surprise, and were simple dishes that were very flavoursome (and no savoury icecream in sight), and the host had excellent English, so was happy to chat with us about where to go and what to do during our time in Draguignan. The town was now converging on the square for the fireworks display, which turned out to be a bit of a fashion display of trend disasters. After the style of Paris, we found many interesting fads well underway through this town. Rats-tails, undercuts on females, a hell of a lot of animal print, and finally, their signature flowing trousers with elastic around the ankle, which became nicknamed the ‘jasmine pants’… Needless to say, there wasn’t going to be much clothes shopping for us here.

The fireworks display was spectacular, and nothing like you’d see in New Zealand, as they were released directly above us, with shell casings flying about in all directions. We were so close that some debris actually made it into my eye, which meant I was left clutching one eye like a freak while trying to see the rest of the show, but a very kind stranger gave me some drops to flush it out with. We really encountered some lovely locals on our way through France.

Mike Robertson (Josh’s friend Andrew’s brother) came over from Nice to visit on the Tuesday, and after buying some lunch goodies in town, we went to what we thought was the train station to collect him. It turns out there is no train station, just a ticket office, and so we finally found out the station was in a nearby village Les Arcs. Even finding a train station is difficult when you have no idea where you’re going… We did make it, and took Mike back for a lovely lunch in the sun, before another lazy day, followed by Josh and I learning some tricks from chef Mike to cook the evening meal.

We left in time to get Mike back to the last train, which turned out to be cancelled (quite the norm apparently, and our first hint at how unreliable some trains can be in Europe…), so we ended up putting him up for the night, more games of 500, and dropping him off bright and early in the morning.

Wednesday was another roadtrip day, and it was nice to be in the air-conditioned car, as it was too hot to lie in the sun, and we needed to keep our shutters closed all day in the bedrooms just to make it cool enough to sleep at night. We took a day trip to Ste Maxime to see the coastline, and although the water wasn’t quite that warm, as it was still early and the clouds hadn’t burnt off yet, we did get to dip our toes into the Mediterranean. That was about it though. We were the prudish New Zealanders who cover up as much as we can while the Europeans are at ease with their topless bathing. Some of them looked as if they’d been in the sun for 50 years (and quite possibly have been), orange, leathered skin and sun-bleached blonde hair.

Catching a ferry to St Tropez, we really didn’t see the attraction. Hoards of tourists packed around incomprehensibly large private launches to ogle the wealthy boaters as they sipped cockatils on the deck. It was incredibly hot on this side of the water, and with our mouths watering, we hunted out gelatos to eat in the shade, while painters sold their art as they worked alongside it on the wharf. We felt the place lacked a lot of character and charm and is possibly only enjoyable if you’re filthy rich and want to flaunt your money about in high-end stores and luxury yachts. After nearly parching ourselves waiting for a return ferry in the intense sun, we drove back to the peace of the villa.

The next two days were filled with tearful departures. Sophie left on the Friday morning, following an early morning drive to Nice airport. After waving goodbye, knowing it might be quite a while before we see her again, we drove from Nice to Villefranche around the coast, to drop off our gear for the weekend (Josh and I were staying at Mike’s apartment there), and to enjoy Chris and Marion’s last day. Josh was driving the windy coastal roads, while I did my best to try and navigate. Leaving Nice, which seemed quite commercial, lined with palm trees, rollerbladers, my idea of what Miami might be like, we arrived in Villefranche – a small village in stark contrast to Nice. A truly picturesque drive, the village is nestled between the windy Cornish road hills, and we were so excited to be staying here. Both of us were starting to feel so much more of an affiliation with the smaller European places than Metropolis cities.

We tried our best to park as close to Mike’s as we could, and ended up on hairpin bends lined with stone walls, jammed between cars. You needed to do three point turns just to make it around the corners, and Josh managed it pretty damn well, whereas I’m not sure I would attempt any of it. By accident we ended up parking a few streets away from Mike’s, and made our way to his street, which is right in the heart of the village, surrounded by restaurants, on narrow pathways that tunnel under buildings.

In need of a swim and food, we all sat down to a lunch of savoury crepes and salads (some of you will be proud to know I now LOVE olives!), and we were off to the beach for our first ocean swim. Amazingly clear water, and warm but refreshing, it was hard to get out, but we dried off under beach umbrellas, before heading back to the car for the drive home.

We bypassed Grasse, the perfume capital, avoiding the concrete highways again, and went out for dinner for Marion and Chris’s last night in France. Finding a cute wee Italian restaurant with lovely simple pastas and pizzas, a very sweet old husband and wife business, we ate outside in the square until dark.

Waking up, I was disappointed my tiredness had taken over and I’d missed seeing more of Valence, but there was no way I could have handled it. Josh had been up until early that morning with the hosts, and woken up early as well, so with some good old sleep under my belt, I was glad I could actually function that day. Josh had a bit of a frantic drive down to the hotel, and had forgotten something, which the lovely hosts drove down to him so he didn’t have to go back, before leading him into town so he didn’t get lost. Such amazing gestures, and they have really shown us how to go the extra mile, which we are looking forward to doing when we have a couch somewhere (wherever it may be…). After Josh lost his leader at a roundabout, he even turned up at the hotel as we were leaving to make sure he got there okay. Just lovely.

On the road again, with two cars this time as Daniel and Katherine were driving ahead of us, and heading towards Avignon. We weren’t the smartest time-planning travellers for this part of the journey, as it was the weekend off France’s national holiday, and there was also a huge festival in the Avignon region that week. Yes, great timing. We tried to take some shortcuts - which didn’t turn out to really be shortcuts in the end, as they took just as long, if not longer, but we had a far more scenic drive than being stuck within traffic on the highway. The outlying tracks took us through small old villages, with amazing stone houses and narrow streets. We passed fields and fields of sunflowers and lavender, and ended up stopping for lunch in what seemed to be the lavender and nougat capital of Montelimar. After a quick lunch, we stumbled across more markets (we just love that so many cities or towns have them), where they were distilling the lavender into oil using a huge machine on site. The smell drifted through the markets, and after strolling the stores, we came away with some beautiful teas and had to try the lavender brulee…

We then encountered a spectacularly slow traffic jam in Orange, around their own Arc Du Triomphe (which apparently is common knowledge to avoid, for locals anyway), and ended up deviating back to the main route, fed up with having to travel at a snail’s pace again. We arrived well after Daniel, Katherine and Sophie, who had already managed to set up the beds and do the groceries, and so we all sat down to a bbq meal, sampling some of our bought wine which was very tasty, and were also introduced to Daniel and Katherine’s favourite cheese – Epoisse, which became quite the favourite. Soon after, the guitar was out, and we sought out a bongo from the house and turned the night into a fantastically raucous musical fare.

As Tracey explained, she died from tiredness and became a withering mess, with tears, the shakes - you name it she had it.

Although it was late, about 10pm, I didn’t want to stand up our Couch Surfing host who was at a concert in town, and neither was there any floor space left for me in Mum and Dad’s, or Daniel and Katherine’s motel rooms. I thought it would be best to drive into town as my bag was big and the road map simplish, but I should have learnt my lesson from Dijon and just taxied, walked or skipped, as within 15 minutes of driving I was lost. I didn’t know I was lost, in fact I thought I had done well and was close to the park where the bands were playing and my host was going to meet me, but I was very, very wrong. I called my host and explained I was in town and gave him the street name I was on, only to be told I was not close at all and needed to drive closer. By this time I was off the bounds of my map, a bit humoured, and a bit devastated. But, if there is one thing Sesame Street has taught me is that ‘a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met’, and during our time in France, I’d learnt if you try to speak a bit of the language, people are more likely to help you.

I pulled out my standard ‘Bonjour’ and ‘Polly-vu Zonglay’, and some friendly locals in a car spoke to my host on the phone to find out where I was to meet him (as they didn’t speak English) and lead me to the city square with them leading in the car ahead. After getting to the city square and finding a car park, I followed the music, letting my ears guide me. A few phone calls and prepay top-ups later and I met my host, a friendly guy called Pierre who is breaking into the music industry, so this concert was a chance for him to make some contacts. The town centre was lovely, apart from a little rain, which is hardly the town’s fault. A great open space with grass, trees, a small café, and a rotunda - a perfect setup for summer concerts.

Pierre introduced me to his friends, including Severine and Thomas, who were suggested as alternate hosts for me that night, as Pierre’s partner Helene was out of the city on work. Pierre was going out to some parties after the concerts in the square (a rock band from Manchester was playing when I arrived), which I was more than welcome to go to with him, but Severine and Thomas offered me a bed at their place if I wanted a quieter night instead. As it was midnight, and we had more driving ahead of us the next morning, I thought giving the parties and drinking a miss might be a good idea.
The weather hadn’t been very good for the majority of the night - dark clouds, patches of rain, and lots of lightning in the distance. In fact, accepting Severine and Thomas’ offer was a very smart idea, as on our drive to their house, which was a fair bit out of Valence, the heavens opened up and rained more than I had ever seen. It was amazing; it was the type of rain that makes you drive 20kmph, full beams on, with your head hunched forward when you are in a 50kmph zone. When I went to get my bag out of the back of the car once we arrived, I got drenched, less than 5 metres and I was already soaked. It was a true battle of the gods going on up above!

After running inside, and semi-drying off, we all sat down around the table with a cold beer, and with the thunder and lightning as it was, I didn’t think we would be getting much sleep for a while. Severine and Thomas were very friendly, funny and generally cool people. Severine is graphic designer (http://www.en-avril.com/) who had just recently started up her own business in Valence, while Thomas had just started up his on business as well (http://www.vivano.net/), as a landscape gardener specialising in water features, pools and fountains, and I was really impressed by his work. We talked for a good hour before lightning took out the power in the area and candles were lit, and then an hour or so later we headed to bed. I then slowly went to sleep to the sound of torrential rain and thunder, which was actually a lovely combination.

I don’t know if it has quite come through in my writing, but I was extremely grateful towards Severine and Thomas for hosting me at short notice. Their hospitality was second to none, their place lovely and cosy, and they themselves were very friendly people. The following morning when I woke up at about 8am I found Thomas had darted into town to buy breakfast for us all. When he arrived back, he came bearing croissants, pain au chocolat, and a loaf of the local delicacy, which was similar to brioche but was made from orange flower. Since the weather had all cleared up it was lovely and sunny outside, we decided to have breakfast on the deck.

Time quickly crept up on us and I had to disappear, which I was a bit sad about as I had hardly got to see Valence, and had to say goodbye to two of the friendliest people I had met. This was proved once again by the drive to the motel to meet Mum, Dad and Trace. As I didn’t really know my way, and wasn’t very good at doing the ol’ drive and map read, Thomas led the way into town with me following in the rental not far behind. Half way during our drive Thomas pulled over and said that Severine had just called him to say that I left a jacket at their place (which Thomas had borrowed to shield himself from the rain), which also had the credit card in one of the pockets, bugger. Instead of driving back and then driving back down, Severine came a dropped it off to us, and we continued on.

During our journey, navigating roundabouts and alike, I lost Thomas in the haze of cars and French driving (which scares the hell out of me), leaving me to fend for myself. I thought I did well, following signs and going around the roundabouts several times if I wasn’t sure, but I came to a bit which pointed the right way but actually led to the motorway. Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I could not believe I was on the motorway heading away from the motel and away from salvation, but yet I couldn’t help laughing - it was just one of those moments. Just as I thought I was heading back to Lyon, low and behold, there was the right off-ramp and the street to the motel, YAY! After arriving and explaining to my family why I was 45 minutes late, we started our drive down to the villa, and as we were leaving Thomas drove through the motel gates to check that I made it safe and sound.

So all in all I can not say that I regret getting lost, getting wet, getting back into town, and getting lost again as I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet some friendly Valencians, witness a fantastic storm and a half, and have a wonderful breakfast with some local delights.