Category Archives: France

A collection of travelogues from my trips to France, peppered with reviews and recommendations of accommodation, walking tours, restaurants and pubs.

Europe, France, French Riviera

Travelogue French Riviera 3: Antibes

ANTIBES

19 June 2019

Where we were staying, Juan Les Pins, was essentially the beach suburb of one of the famous towns on the Cote d’Azur, Antibes.

We’d left our city tour of Antibes until the last day since it was up the coast toward Nice so we figured it would be the first hop of the next stage in our roadtrip which was to take us in that direction.

Since in real-life Antibes was less than 2km away and we were so close to the station, it now made more sense to take the one stop on the train rather than battle (and pay through the nose) for parking in Antibes.

We navigated the train service easily – even managing to grab a curry poulet baguette at the legendary Juan Les Pins train station coffee shop in the process – and were soon (really really soon) stepping into the Antibes sunshine and making our way down to the Place Charles De Gaulle for the walking tour we’d booked.

Our guide, Cederic, was already there along with 2 other tourists, a Mom and daughter combo from Norwich. Minutes later we were joined by a student from Colombia and a woman from Las Vegas who was already flustered from leaving her sunglasses in her Uber. With her dramatic entrance and so very American accent, if this was an Agatha Christie murder mystery character intro, you just know Hercule Poirot would discount her immediately for falling short on the requirements for strategic villainy.

Cederic was born and raised in Antibes and it was clear that his love for his home town ran deeply and sincerely. He shared enthusiastically the long history of the own from its formation in 5C BC – then called Antipolis the Greek for “facing the town” – and its historical significance in production of wine, ceramics and oil.

Nice was in the neighbouring Kingdom of Savoy and Antibes was the door to France and the military town protecting her border. Until 1860 when the border moved up to Menton, which gave relief to Antibes and allowed removal of the landside walls so that the now-cramped city could expand, including the addition of the seaside suburb of Juan Les Pins.

Cederic delighted in sharing with us the old-world mysticism and magic. First at the Chapelle Saint Bernardin with its unusual fully painted ceilings and walls, gallery, and massive wooden door that inexplicably wasn’t damaged in a fire that burns most of the church to the ground.

We wound through the old town and he marvelled at the regeneration of old town, the creation of pedestrian-only areas, commitment to artisanal shops and refusal of chain stores of any sort and the recreation of the town’s old bandstand that would serve as the social meeting point it had in day’s gone by.

His favourite part of the tour was an Absinthe store which had a vintage display in the window that he used to explain how the locals used to drink wine almost exclusively because of so much bacteria in the water. And then, when a bad crop made wine too expensive, they turned to absinthe!

Absinthe, when prepared in the traditional manner, is served as 2cl in bottom of tumbler, with a slotted teaspoon over the top of the glass through which cold water is dropped until all the sugar is melted; the perfect ratio being about 5:1.

We sampled and it was indeed really refreshing – and not as manic as some of the crazy absinthe we’ve sampled elsewhere in Europe. Van Gogh was notoriously a big fan of the stuff… but he mixed using cognac instead of water, so it’s no wonder he went crackers. And he and his Bohemian friends ruined the fun for everyone, since absinthe got banned based on reputation, in the early 1900s.

Left with some ‘free time’ to wander around the fruit and veg Marché, we sampled with reckless abandon, appreciating the French’s ability to cure meat and mature cheese, wondering why there wasn’t representation of wine ‘degustation’ from a nation that had visibly displayed no need for planes to fly overhead for daily indulgences to be partaken.

Apparently the Marché is all edibles in the morning and then arts and crafts in the afternoon, blending in live music as the sun goes down. It all sounds quite lively, as Cederic described it – and ultimately culminated as the best evening experience in Antibes, the piano lounge under the Absinthe place we’d been at earlier. Only open on weekends, the lounge is allegedly unmissable.

It was impossible to miss the artistic influence in Antibes. Picasso moved to Antibes, bought the Grimaldi Chateau as his residence and workshop and produced countless works of art there and it remains today a museum dedicated to the legendary artist.

Understandably. The setting is picture perfect, as we moved from quaint narrow and winding ancient roads, adorned with draping grapevines and curtains of Bougainvillea, onto the seafront with the stark contrast of green to blue, from the natural tones of yesteryear to modern shiny yachts. All inspirational in their own way.

We walked along the seafront to the marina and then parted ways with the group, us finding our way back up the hill to the train station to head back to Juan Les Pins to claim our car and conclude our roadtrip.

Europe, France, French Riviera

Travelogue French Riviera 2: Cannes

CANNES

17-19 June 2019

Setting off from our resort in Port Cogolin, we were surprised at the amount of traffic for a Monday mid-morning. While the online resources we’d read had warned of it and we’d had firsthand taste of it on our arrival on Friday afternoon, the pinch of salt we’d taken it with proved to be unfounded.

With 116km roadtripping ahead of us for the day, first on the agenda, as usual, was breakfast, which we intended to take in Saint Maxime, 9km down the coast.

The one bright side about the traffic was the opportunity to really soak in the view on the drive, which since we were fringing the coastline was nothing short of spectacular. While there isn’t as much beach as I’d expected to see, everything was really lush and green, the houses were comforting peaches and beiges (and even the hotels are only double storey) and of course the rippling, glinting azure waters and visions of the yachts and Saint Tropez in the distance tickle the soul.

The stars were aligned for our rendezvous with Saint Maxime. Although the beach was bustling, we had no trouble finding a parking. And right outside the Tourist Office too!

The tourist map guided us directly across the street to the Old Town, where we found a boulangerie on the very first corner that sold us magnificent rotisserie chicken mayo baguettes and a melt-in-the-mouth Tarte Tropezienne (a cream donut with crunchy sugar on top) for afters. Easily the best €10 we’ve spent this holiday so far – and enjoyed at leisure perched on the fountain in the middle of the old town square.

With renewed joie de vivre we tootled up and down the handful of pretty streets lined with pretty cafes and pretty shops selling pretty things until we emerged at the beach which was, well, also very pretty. With wide golden sands, magnificently blue sea and far fewer people, we noted this was actually better (for us) than Saint Tropez should we see ourselves visiting this part of the world again.

Heading inland, we stopped in Frejus, a town that had been established in BC times by Julius Caesar. We hit Frejus during siesta – very strictly 12 until 2 – so didn’t get a tourist map and couldn’t find one online, so I’m sure we missed a lot in this obviously historic village with its ancient walls still intact, in use and clearly visible in several places. But we did see the cemetery, cathedral and the town square where pretty much everyone who was awake was lunching.

Of course, in true Murphy’s Law fashion, we were ready to leave town at 13h55, just before the tourist office was due to re-open and we could have had some wisdom to our wanderings… But we hit the road and continued to what turned out to be the day’s sleeper hit, Tourrettes.

We’d only added the village to our list thinking it would be funny to go there bearing in mind the name. What we found was a charming artists’ enclave of medieval village with narrow cobbled streets adorned with framed paintings and artworks hither and thither like the streets were a collector’s hallways.

Obviously the Tourist Information office was closed (only opening Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays between 14h30 and 17h30; applying for the role immediately on return home!) so we relied on instinct to guide us through the dormant town.

We finished off the afternoon’s touring with a stop in at Grasse, world renowned for its perfume industry. We found the home of Molinard and fortuitously arrived as the English tour started!

Perfume is quite a process to produce – and Molinard doesn’t make it any easier on themselves, blending hundreds of scents where most houses work in handfuls. We listened, sniffed, snuffed, spritzed and counted ourselves lucky at the extended education.

We wafted back to the car for the final hop of our journey and were soon squeezing our car into the tiny (but free) parking bay our hotel concierge had reserved for us, right  in front of our Hotel Trianon in Juan Les Pins. No mean feat in the narrow roads so close to the beach, where even the expensive pay parking was hard to come by.

Our host was a delight and was quick to help us get settled and to recommend restaurants that she liked.

Being around about that time, her recommendations were appreciated but ultimately ignored as a quick purvey of the promenade revealed an almost endless choice of places to eat and drink – not least of which the series of swanky places opening onto their section of private beach.

We ended up at a lovely little Italian place where Christian enjoyed a spaghetti vongolé (clams) and I a creamy and crispy lasagne.

TUESDAY

We were rudely awoken to what sounded like the binmen rattling up and down the road, but that turned out to be construction. Right. Next. Door.

Nonetheless, we fought the urge to get up early and lazed about until we headed out for a jog at around 9.

Our mission was to run to the neighbouring Old Town Juan Les Pins Port, about 3km around the cove. We could see it from our base and it looked like promenade all the way so not too ambitious an outing.

Lacing up, we headed out into the sunshine and took an easy pace. With the wide paths and few pedestrians, we were soon at our destination.

Happening upon a Tourist Office, we got a map and did a quick walking tour of the handful of sights to be seen in the old Town, mostly odes to Napoleon so presumably this was part of his stomping ground in his heyday.

We got some strange looks from the elegant customers at the sophisticated sidewalk cafes as we stomped on past, jogging our way back to Juan Les Pins, but we didn’t miss a step.

It was a joyous event to complete our morning run with a splash in the sea. The Mediterranean isn’t as warm as you’d think, but the bracing first steps in soon become welcoming waters and it’s wonderful to be engulfed in the azure.

It was also lovely to have a warm shower and get dressed and ready for our Cannes adventure.

Having been not entirely sure how we would get to Cannes, it was a relief to find that the train station was no more than a couple of hundred metres up the road from our hotel.

We got there with half an hour to spare, which is, serendipitously, exactly the right amount of time to have a massive jambon sandwich and an Orangina!

Catching the 13h57 train deposited us in Cannes just after 2pm. The town was buzzing with ad industry people, with the Cannes Lion Ads Awards opening. It was so much more cosmopolitan than we’d been used to, with barely any French among the British, American, Italian and all sorts we heard.

We veered up to the old town to see what culture we could absorb at the Notre Dames clock tower. Avoiding the museum – since it was such a blue skies sunny afternoon – we did a bit of medieval marvelling but mostly panoramic viewpointing before making our way back down the hill to town town.

Needing to do the needing-to-be-done, we walked the length of the Croisette promenade, which had been completely engulfed by the ad awards. Iconic brands gated by burly bouncers kept back anyone not bearing the embossed name badges of ad indo’s that had registered for the event.

The beach was a sea of branded umbrellas and a wave of competing music. Quite alienating to regular tourists like us.

We grabbed a shaded bench and a granita (an expensive Slush Puppy) and people-watched for a good half hour before heading back to the shore front, where we found a Happy Hour special that happiered our hour.

Positioning right on the edge of the pavement cafe’s pavement, we had perfect vantage point to see up and down the port, soaking up everything Cannes could while plotting our next steps.

It seemed an obvious to add to our Guinness Index and our Google search guided us to Morrison’s Irish Pub.

Finding their Happy Hour (Irishly from 5-8pm), on top of a warm pub, welcoming bar staff and lively playlist provided a fun time for all for the next couple of hours.

Way too soon it was time to head back. We accidentally jumped on the wrong train and ended up in Nice! Fortunately, we’d taken the second last train home, so there was the last one still lined up to take us back where we needed to be!

Europe, France, French Riviera

Travelogue French Riviera 1: Saint Tropez

SAINT TROPEZ

14-17 June 2019

It’s always lovely to attend to one’s bucketlist and this trip was (for me, at least) right at the top! I’d been wanting to visit the French Riviera for decades and our annual Winter Break seemed as good a time as any to strike it off the list.

It was only when we started researching the itinerary that we realised how close together all our must-see spots were, which sealed the deal and motivated us to rent a car for what then became our Riviera Roadtrip.

We’d again timed it perfectly, leaving for our holiday exactly as the first major cold snap set in at home – especially brutal to the unaccustomed after our long summer and only a mild flirtation with autumn.

Landing in Nice, we were greeted with a cloudy sky, a feisty breeze and a warm blanket of humidity. Sort of like arriving in Durban.

There was quite a long queue at the car rental place, but within the hour we were packed into our zippy-nippy Fiat 500, which from all appearances looked brand new and had all the creature comforts, including leather seats and a panoramic sunroof. Fortunately we’d only brought a single shared suitcase because that took up the whole boot, to the point that there wasn’t even space for our little onboard backpack!

Soon we were off, whizzing along with the highway on the road to our seaside adventure, with the longest leg of our roadtrip – a mere 104km – ahead of us.

Our pace slowed considerably as we exited the highway at Saint Maxime, our first experience of the beach towns on the coastal road. Teeming with holidaymakers, the traffic flow was inching along. Still, we had full view of the sea on our left and Saint Tropez on the opposite shore of the bay we were circling, so not so bad for us, as experienced as we are in the world of gridlock.

We had booked to stay in Cogolin, the adjacent town to Saint Tropez, based on the massive difference in price and the close proximity and ease of commute between them. While the town itself was a bit inland, the Port was (obviously) on the coast with enough accommodation options available on online bookings engines to hint that we were not the only ones to make this call.

There was a big shopping centre servicing the area, so we stopped and for a bite (it felt like a LONG time since the lunch on the aeroplane!) and a local SIM card en route to our digs.

We arrived at the Marina Hotel Club, which had sounded a bit like an Avontura Resort on the website, but proved to be so much better with little blocks of rooms strategically laid out for privacy. We were on the end row, so our double (dare I call them) French doors opened onto our veranda, the gravel path, the tennis courts and beyond that (oui oui) the actual-factual marina with all its fancy-pantsy yachts!

Keen to get out after the (semi-) frustrating traffic had delayed our arrival, we dumped bags, donned flip-flops, flip-flopped out of the resort and took a left to the marina, as our concierge had directed.

No more than a couple of hundred metres down, we were walking alongside jetties housing who-knows-how-many millions of Euros in yachts and boats of all shapes and sizes.

We stuck with what we knew and pulled up a dockside table at Le Wine to have sundowners, which the Cote d’Azur had been kind enough to hang onto for us even though it was easily after 7pm already. A couple of hours merriment was a worthy welcome party after our long journey!

SATURDAY

It was bliss having had a full night’s horizontal rest and no responsibilities to attend to so we made no effort to get up early on Saturday morning.

And as it turned out, there was no need to anyway.

We breakfasted on filled baguettes at the local boulangerie (2 minutes down the road) and then headed off in the other direction to the first stop on our day’s sightseeing plan.

Eight minutes later we were at that stop, Ramatuelle, a medieval village in typical Provencal style perched atop a hill with spectacular views of the vineyards below and beautiful sea beyond.

The town is tiny so it was fortunate we found the tourist office and got a walking tour map otherwise it would have been a quick 2000-step lap of the concentric buildings and we’d have been back on the road before you can say voila!

However, the map had snippets of information on over 20 points of interest in the concentrated area, which guided our attentions and provided a good hour’s entertainment taking us back in time to where crests adorned doorways and portcullises kept the baddies out.

Soberingly, our tour concluded with the World War II memorial commemorating the lost lives of the brave secret service members who served in the Resistance to bring the country to liberation, but saw their end being shot, beheaded or tortured in concentration camps. It’s an unsettlingly long list for such a small town.

Our route was to take us up the coast, away from St Tropez, which was the plan of action for Sunday.

We stopped in at La Croix Valmer, another pretty little town but by now, being Saturday afternoon, all the shops were shut so there wasn’t much to see and do so we did a whirl around the centre ville and then jumped back in the car.

Our last hop took us to our farthest destination, Cavalaire Sur Mer, the epitome of a seaside holiday town with a long promenade lined with shops and restaurants.

We walked along the shoreline – surprised at how the Med wasn’t as warm as we thought it would be – until we got to the (inevitable) marina with more yachts and flashy boats, where there was a spirited afternoon petanque tournament in session on the permanent gravel pit on the promenade. We sat and watched for a while, enjoying the Frenchness of it all.

On our return walk to the car, the afternoon’s revelry had begun on a section of the promenade hosting a rodeo! There was also a line-dancing demonstration in motion on a raised stage and stalls selling a generous selection of Americana. So odd to see all these ‘cowboys’ parlez-vousing the old Francais in their cowboy hats and pointy-toed embroidered boots.

We routed our drive home through Saint Tropez to get an idea of what the next day was to hold. It’s warned to be a busy town and the online references referred to crazy traffic and limited parking so a reccie would give insight on whether we’d be best driving, walking, bussing or boating ourselves around the next day.

While not terribly enlightening, the taste did serve to add excitement to the following day’s visit. How awesome to be flitting around in the playground of the rich and famous!

Arriving home, we showered and prepared for our evening activity – a walk to the adjacent town’s marina for dinner.

No more than 2km down the road, Port Grimaud is quite different to our Port Cogolin. Much fancier and bigger, Port Grimaud is big gated community that looks like a slice of Venice with Tuscan architecture and quaint townhouses built on a grid of canals, with residents mooring at their doorsteps and boating around the ‘burbs.

Bordered with wide roads lined with palm trees and based on the calibre of cars we saw (including a Rolls, generous selection of German luxury cars and more than a handful of Italian sportscars), this was definitely the more affluent area.

We took the bridge (named the Rialto, no less) into one section of the marina where there was a town square surrounded by restaurants, and where we enjoyed pizza and pasta while watching locals chuck boules on the gravel on the square.

Done with dinner and the sun still in the sky, we walked down to the beach and were lucky to get a waterside table at the big pub on the beachfront to spend a couple of hours watching the sun go down and plotting our plans for the next day.

SUNDAY

After all consideration of the many options for transport for our Sunday trail, we settled on taking our Noddy car. This would give us more freedom to add to our agenda if new ideas occurred and while the parking fees in St Tropez were going to be extortionate, it was all part and parcel, and using our own transport would save us time, which is the one thing money can’t buy.

But first, breakfast needed to be attended to so we took a drive to the town of Cogolin, sure that there would be a boulangerie with our name on it.

We were wrong.

While (another) pretty little town, we were disappointed to find a selection of bakeries selling bread and butcheries selling deli items but not a one having put the lot together to sell a packaged sandwich. And while you might immediately think that it would just be a case of procuring each at the specialist store and combining, it’s not that simple without any cutlery. The baguettes are crispy, crunchy and very long so would be a very messy to split; and a thick layer of butter is an essential part of the formula.

We masked our disappointment admirably with an obligatory whip around the centre ville to say we’d seen what there was to see, and were soon back on the road to St Tropez to seek fame, fortune and a feeding.

We parked the car and had barely emerged from the underground parking when we spotted a cluster of sandwich stalls in a small market. One was a kebab stall, which sealed the deal and we were soon munching happily on a bench, shaded by the tall trees in the Place de Lice, watching the locals battle the boules, obviously.

Taking a walk through the town, Saint Tropez has more character than I expected; the full complement of designer stores and glitzy lables, but in a charming setting of cobbled streets, terracotta roof tiles and painted window shutters instead of the usual chrome and glass city storefronts. An obscene amount of premium motor cars and an ostentation of yachts, but still somehow warm and charming.

We climbed the hill to the citadel and maritime museum which gave context to the town’s rich history and a wonderful panoramic view across the town, the crammed marina and across the bay to the places we’d passed through on our way in.

Returning down the hill, we wound through La Ponche (the old fishing village) and were deposited on the marina where we spied an Irish pub called Kelly’s La Grotto that was perfectly timed to earn itself the #6 spot on our Guinness Index!

And, coincidentally, while we were there our friend Kelleigh called us to say she’d be in Cannes for the week so hopefully we could meet up! We made arrangements for Tuesday; a very exciting prospect!

Very pleased with our new plan, we were newly motivated to follow through with the last phase of our current plan – to drive to Bonne Terasse beach to walk a trail around Cap Camarat to see the lighthouse. 2.5km each way would keep us out of trouble for a couple of hours.

Late afternoon was the perfect time to do it and thankfully the trek around the cape allowed for interspersing the sticky, sweaty hiking with dips in the ocean – which was, as per the name, deeply and brightly azure, and was so clear in places that we could see the pebble beds and seaweed on the ocean floor even from up on the cliffs where we were climbing.

We ended off the adventure with a good soak in the water before getting back into Noddy and heading home to shower in anticipation of the dinner we’d earned through all the activity.

We opted to return to Port Cogolin for our last supper and were spoilt with a 3 course menu special at Le Gallon, lured in by the host at the door. We feasted on salmon terrine, tempura prawns, mussel pot, tuna steak and – the coup de gras – lemon meringue, for only a couple of Euro more than the dinner the night before. We had ordered a bottle of white wine and a bottle of sparkling water, thinking it pennywise to spritzer, but the restaurant foxed us with a) the smallest glasses in the world, b) serving us rosé (which looking around, everyone had, so maybe that’s what you got no matter what you ordered) and c) when the bill came we found out the bottle of water was €8.50 (!!) so hardly worth the effort of diluting.

Still it was a very pleasant evening and the setting, food and company were perfect so all in all, all smiles.

Europe, France, Travelogue

Travelogue: Champagne

CHAMPAGNE

22-25 August 2015

The plan to visit Champagne was hatched when Lixi’s milestone birthday reared its very lovely head on the horizon. It was clear that a plan needed to be made; and the plan needed to be epic. There would have to be Bubbly. LOTS of Bubbly. So what better place to celebrate than the home of Bubbly itself?

After deftly overcoming the usual obstacles (leave, flights, budgets, itinerary) in a matter of days, the plan was made and we were set for Epernay. And stoked for another visit to our beloved France!

Our first validation that our decision had been a wise one was when we were upgraded to Business Class on the Dubai – Paris second half of the outbound leg of the journey. Having both achieved Silver status on Emirates, Christian and I had taken advantage of the free Business Lounge access to pass the time between flights. It makes the world of difference to the 3 hour stop-over to have an abundance of comfortable armchairs, extensive buffet and open bar at our disposal!

The lounge also has its own boarding gate, which is where we were told by the lady checking boarding cards that we’d be travelling on a brand new A380 and she’d taken the liberty of upgrading us. What a pleasure!

It was a tough job balancing enjoying all the extras that come with the premium service and getting some shut-eye. Just a couple of glasses of Champagne (to fit the theme of the trip, of course) and a few episodes on the big-screen telly, before transforming the seat into a flat bed for a perfect sleep… until a delicious Eggs Benedict breakfast with crispy light croissant, Bucks Fizz and an assortment of other accompaniments.

Our excitement at landing at Charles de Gaulle was dampened by an hour-long wait for our luggage. Clearly the downside to travelling on such an enormous aircraft. When we finally had our bags, there were still loads of people waiting for theirs and we thought that the (real) Business Class and Emirates Skywards Gold members (who had their own carousel) couldn’t have been very impressed having paid all that tom and then having to wait around forever to get their stuff.

While our wait at the carousel didn’t feel like time best spent, we still had just enough tome to catch the RER to Gare du Nord and connect with a Metro to get to Gare L’Est in time for our midday meeting.

It was, as always, awesome to meet up with our friends and, as usual, our communal holiday began with excited chattering about the journey, news from home and impressions on what lay ahead on our shared adventure.

The others had already bought train tickets for all of us, so all that remained was to make our way to the platform for our 12h36 train to Epernay.

We’d picked a perfect day to arrive and emerged from the station into a warm and clear day in the town that was to be our home base for the next 3 nights.

First stop was to pick up our rental car. Easily done since the agent office was conveniently located behind the town’s church – a landmark impossible to miss. Soon we were in our electric blue hatchback and headed off on the wrong side of the road (well, right side for France, but wrong side for us) to try and find our house.

A few wrong turns – which we wrote off as “sightseeing” – and we found our house. It had been another Airbnb booking and proved to be a gem.

The house was triple storey, with living area (lounge, dining room, kitchen and guest loo) on the ground floor, 2 bedrooms and a bathroom on the middle level and the main loft-style en suite bedroom and a big sewing room on the top floor. The coup de gras was a lovely back garden, where we enjoyed a celebratory bottle of chilled champagne to welcome our arrival.

Our host had left the bottle for us as a gift for Lixi’s birthday, indicating that it was from her father-in-law’s vineyard and that there were more bottles from his range in the fridge, should we so wish to purchase them. We rated this Goulard Brut a 5.5, but appreciated the gesture and could envisage ourselves dipping into the stocks should the need arise.

Tastebuds piqued, it was time to do some real tasting! Epernay is famous for Avenue de Champagne, so that made a logical first port of call on our mission. We trooped down our road, past the church and into town. We did a loop through the centre, round the traffic circle and into Avenue de Champagne, facing up the street, with its wide cream pavements and grand buildings lining either side, with regal black metal palisade fencing and gold lettering spelling out names famous and aloofedly unfamiliar, but all classy and French. The first door on the left was a Tourist Office, so we stopped in and got a map and advice on Epernay and the popular Route de Champagne (in anticipation of a roadtrip).

Map in hand and plans in the making, our first tasting was at a Champagne bar called Comme, which Lix had already pencilled in our preparatory research phase. It was a good call and we bullishly started our tasting with a bottle of Pinot Meunier (6.5) and Rosé de Saigner (4), beautifully paired with a pork and mushroom ribelette, portion of ham and a cheese board, served with a basket of toast and French loaf. Obviously.

The summer sun is deceptive so even though we only left Comme in the evening, it still felt like daytime… so we stopped for sundowners en route home, where we had a very lovely time people-watching (well, mostly people’s plates-watching) and soaking in the Frenchness of it all.

Exercising our own Frenchness, dinner supplies were sourced from the Carrefour and consisted of paté, chicken, ham, cheeses, breads, chianti and 1664 (beer). It was a divine night for a walk home and a lingering evening around the diningroom table.

SUNDAY

Christian and I were in the top floor loft room, so the early sunshine through the uncovered sky lights ensured we were awake and ready to make the most of Sunday morning. Feeling ambitious, we kitted up and took a jog around the town.

This proved to be a marvellous plan because we not only got a better lay of the land (which revealed that our house was super conveniently located), but also managed to catch the town market. While this was little more than a flower stall, a green grocer stall and a lady selling rotisserie chickens and roast potatoes (that very nearly had us doing Sunday roast for breakfast!), the market did lure us to what must – without any exaggeration – be the most heavenly store in the world! A deli that had so many delicious things that there are too many to even begin describing! We exercised enormous self-control and just nabbed a couple of crêpes stuffed with cheese, ham and bechamel sauce and considered ourselves blessed to have been exposed to such a sacred place.

Returning to the nest with our spoils, we regrouped and hatched the day’s plan: Catch a train to Reims, where some of the bigger houses are open on Sundays. This would be easy enough to do as the trains between Epernay and Reims are regular and (relatively) inexpensive (assuming you’re not travelling on the Rand).

We decided on the midday train, giving us enough time to go via Avenue de Champagne for a quick sneaky tasting en route to the station. We picked Collard Picard – for no reason other than it was the first gate that was open – and sampled their Brut (6.4) in a very civilised fashion at one of the table and chair set-ups neatly arranged in their perfect white pebble garden.

A good starter to the day’s main event; we nipped down to the station and were soon on the train to Reims.

The tourist office is right outside the station, so it was a simple task to review the big map to decide where we were going and to get a take-away map to get us there.

The destination of choice was Taittenger; the route set to take us past the other big attraction in town, the Cathedral.

Sadly, the weather had taken a turn and it had started to drizzle but, fortunately, it wasn’t cold and we were on a mission, so it didn’t dampen our spirits.

Luck was on our side and we arrived, by complete serendipity with not a stitch of pre-planning, with 5 minutes to go until the next tour, which started with a video presentation on the usual history of the estate and an introduction to Champagne and its terminology, preceding a guided cellar tour and concluding with a tasting.

We were taken 12m underground, where it is a chilly 12 degrees, and shown the vaults where the 4km of chalk-walled tunnels house 2 million bottles of arguably the world’s finest Champagne. These bottles are stored for years and turned by hand (alternating a quarter revolution one way and an eighth revolution the other way bi-weekly) to ensure the perfect fermentation and meticulous sediment extraction, so that anywhere from 7 years upward, perfect Champagne can be distributed all over the world.

The tour was also interesting since the tunnels themselves are so steeped in history, having housed clergymen escaping persecution hundreds of years ago and creating an entire underground village for locals during the World Wars. The chalk walls are soft enough that many people have carved messages and drawings and it was fascinating to see how these have transcended time, while the Champagne sits waiting to be ready.

Best part of the tour though was of course the tasting… and it was well worth the wait. Our group rated the Brut a solid 8.1 and the Vintage 2008 (meaning all the grapes from that bottle were from the 2008 harvest) a respectable 6.3.

We hadn’t eaten since the morning crêpes and it was by now well into the mid-afternoon, so lunch was most certainly the next order of the day.

We easily retraced our footsteps to the main avenue that led up from the station, that was lined with cafés and restaurants.

We sat at the first that appealed… only to be told that the kitchen was closed until dinnertime. It made the next best choice somewhat easier though, since there was only one place clearly open. Fortunately, it proved itself to be both quick and amazing, which were the exact two qualities we were looking for and soon I was happily munching on a 300g “French mincemeat”, which is sort of a flat meatball or a burger without the bun, and very good crispy pomme frîtes.

The boys managed to wolf their food down so as to pop into the English pub across the Avenue – lured in equal parts by the big screen football and an enormous neon Guinness sign – to gullet a stout before we had to get back to the station.

We got back to Epernay just after 5, leaving an hour to do some more tasting. De Castellane was an obvious choice since it was near the station and had a big imposing branded tower above the building that implied it must be something special. We sampled the Grand Cru, which only earned a very average 6.3 on our (now known to be tough) scale.

Up the hill and back onto Avenue de Champagne, we chose A. Bergère because it was still busy with patrons – usually a good sign. We tasted the Brut (5.2) and the Grand Cru (6.2), while reviewing all we’d seen and done on our afternoon in Reims.

Needing a palate cleanser, we stopped off in a brasserie en route home for a pint, enjoying the evening sunshine after the damp afternoon.

Dinner was then a very French affair with baguettes and paté and cheese and chianti… and 2 bottles of our host’s Goulard Brut (which earned a much higher rating on this second time round and seemed more fairly priced – at 15 Euros a bottle – after having a better idea on the going rates).

MONDAY

Monday morning was not sunny, but much brighter than the previous, no doubt thanks to the previous day’s exuberance. The plan was to roadtrip the region and find a nice chateau for lunch.

We hit the road and headed for Verzy… only to find a ghost town. NOTHING is open on a Monday! Not even the lighthouse… so we’ll never know why in the world they even need a lighthouse!

The drive was still nice (for everyone but Lix, who was tasked with winding around the narrow streets on the wrong side of the road) and it became clear that it would have been a mean feat to taste all the Champagne houses in Champagne in a lifetime, let alone our long weekend! The one little village had its own mini tour route laid out from the town square, with 31 houses in walking distance.

Our ultimate destination was Chalons en Champagne, where we knew we were bound to find something open. And we did.

A delightful bistro that had a perfect set menu offering duck paté, bavette (steak) with shallots and frîtes and a scrumptious crème caramel to finish off.

Returning to Epernay, we went straight to drop the car off so we could resume our mission: complete Avenue de Champagne.

The plan was to walk the full length and do Mercier at the top, but when we got there and found out that we had to do a tour in order to do a tasting, we passed. We’d had the tour the day before and figured there was unlikely to have been any major breakthroughs in Champagne-making overnight, especially since the region doesn’t seem to operate at all on a Monday.

So we went to Michel Gonet instead – a beautiful old house, which has apparently previously housed the British Embassy – and did a leisurely sampling of the Blanc de Blanc (7), Vintage (6.2), Chardonnay (5.2) and Rosé (5.3).

With little time to go before the 6pm closing, the last option available to us on the Avenue was, conveniently, 2 vineyards exhibiting their wares (for free) in the Tourist Office. There we were given background and samples of the Lorint Brut and Rosé (both 5) and the Alain Mercier Chardonnay (5) and Meunier (7.5). We liked the Meunier so much that we asked to buy a bottle. No such luck, the exhibitor loudly told us that he couldn’t sell from the Tourist Office… then whispered his address and told us to meet him in 20 minutes.

Fortunately there was a brasserie next door, so we waited out the time until our “deal” with a pint. We learned a little lesson about experimentation: for me having ordered a Panache (a shandy of sorts, more unusual than unpleasant) and for Robby who had what might very well be The Worst Beer In The World.

Chalking it up to experience, we headed back up the road to meet our Mercier man. True to form, he was waiting in the parking in front of his (gorgeous) boutique hotel, with the back of his van open and ready to effect our transaction. We bought four bottles to reward his efforts.

On our way home, we stopped at L’Univers pub outside the Church and enjoyed our last evening in the company of what is clearly Epernay’s version of Gathering of the Clans. The pub cleverly has a little Tabac in the entrance – a kiosk selling basic supplies – and we marvelled at the simple genius of the one-stop shopping (and how many of our “married with children” friends would offer to pop out for bread or milk to get a quick pint in).

We had planned our supplies perfectly and made a slap-up picnic dinner with the last of the bread, paté, chicken, cheese and garnishes we had leftover from previous meals. Enjoying our last night together at our trusty diningroom table.

TUESDAY

Tuesday was the big day. The day it was all about. Lixi’s birthday. We got up, dressed and packed and made our way downstairs to do presents and have a lingering Champagne (literally) breakfast. Lixi seemed pleased with her haul: a set of engraved Champagne glasses from us and a very lush spa day from Faye. How awesome that was as old friends – as in going way back, not being old ourselves,  obviously – get to spend such auspicious occasions together!

We’d opted to catch the earlier train to Paris so as to have less rush on the other side to get to the airport, so our evac from our wonderful holiday house was set for 10, to get us to the station by 10.30 and in to Paris just before 12.

We surfaced from L’Est onto the streets of Paris and made our way toward Gare du Nord, where Lix had earmarked Terminus Nord as our destination. A surreal restaurant with classic decor and antique pieces that looked like it had been frozen in time; like Hemingway or Picasso could have sat at our table in their day.

The service was exceptional and the food exquisite. Those that did, got the escargots they’d been after all holiday – served in the shell with a light parsleyed garlic butter – and we all had steaks of some persuasion for mains, with melt-in-mouth crunchy frîtes. Add a bottle of white and a bottle of red and the bill was gasp-worthy… but you only live once, right?

Europe, France, Travelogue

Travelogue Iberia 2: San Sebastian

SAN SEBASTIAN

9-12 September 2013

We picked up “Negrita”, our black Seat Ibiza, at the Europcar without complication – and I was worried with how casually the date change had been handled sans paperwork – and took the first motions into our road trip experience.

It wasn’t the easiest of asks, having Christian execute his first left hand drive experience in amidst the bustle of Estacio de Barcelona-Sants, with me having to navigate using a city map (why oh why didn’t we bring Lixi and her mad maps skills?!)… that didn’t show the one ways!! Fortunately though, more by dumb luck than design, the station was toward the edge of town so there wasn’t too much to endure to get onto the highway out of Barcelona. And soon we were on our way – the 573km from Barcelona to San Sebastian.

It was slow going at first, while Christian found his feet (on the wrong side of the car), but at least the open road offered fewer challenges while we got used to our new appointments.

There wasn’t much of interest in interior Catalunya – although I’m sure that there must be more to offer slightly off the beaten track since Lleida (about 2 hours inland from Barcelona) is a relatively successful wine district, that we’d intended an overnight in on some of our earlier draft itineraries.

Amazingly, the landscape changed dramatically as we left Catalunya and travelled through Aragon, which was sparsely populated and known for its mountains, castles and ancient stone villages. We’d contemplated a stop in its capital, Zaragoza, which Kate (our hostess in Barcelona) had told us feels like a town out of an old Western, but were keen to get to our destination so decided to keep moving.

Our last intended stop was Pamplona but, on reading up and realising it was only really famous for Running of The Bulls on 6 July, we again decided to skip it and keep on trucking.

What might’ve been a good overnighter, had we had more time on this trip, is La Rioja, where the best red wines in Spain are produced. It would be good to enjoy an afternoon of wine-tasting on the Basque side as an introduction to Basque Country… but clearly not with driving to do afterwards!

We had some difficulty entering San Sebastian as the Google Maps I’d downloaded was quite vague and the road and offramp numbering didn’t seem to correspond with the signage. (Oh, and I’d managed to accidentally throw the print outs away at the first truck stop… but got free wifi and redownloaded them at the second). Everything made infinitely more confusing by the reference to San Sebastian suffixed with “Donostia”, its Basque name. We took a wrong turn initially and ended in the thick of a suburb completely the wrong end of town, but managed to navigate back onto the highway and instinct our way into town correctly.

I’d booked us another apartment called Carmen’s Place through www.airbnb.co.uk since we had 3 nights in San Sebastian, so the logic was to have a bit more freedom to eg make a light breakfast or just a cup of coffee (not for me, clearly). This meant we were placed in the slightly more suburban part of town, across the dividing waterway from the central sights and main beaches. Of course, this turned out to be a matter of only a few blocks – with several bridge crossings – as commonly happens when maps make cities seem bigger or more complicated than they are in real life scale.

I’d selected our location (in Egia) largely based on the promise of it being the only neighbourhood in San Sebastian with free parking (costing up to €20 per night elsewhere!), both on our one-way downhill  road (Calle Virgen del Carmen) and the parallel one-way uphill road (Avenida de Ametzagana). It was clear, however, that this was not a well kept secret! I have never seen such expert parallel parking! The kind of level of expert that is only achieved through constant necessity! Cars that had wheedled their way into a bay with mere single digit centimetres of space front and back! Worse still was the number of cars with bumpers touching both sides! What if we got parked in?? Or someone bumped us and we were liable for the hefty €780 excess on our rental?? And why oh why had we let Europcar upgrade us for free, when we could have had the halfloaf Fiat 500 to park?!

Anyway, we couldn’t worry about all those things at once, so we decided on focusing on finding our building first, a parking (big enough for an amateur left-hand driver and reasonable parallel parker) second and the courage to leave the car there last.

Fortunately, the very blurry seemingly-not-to-scale map got us to the right apartment block, where Christian parked in the loading bay across the road to offload our bags and then set off to hunt down a parking while i sorted our check-in and induction.

There really wasn’t much to induct since our “apartment” was little more than a room. Obviously our landlord had converted a room of their apartment into a flatlet by adding a built-in kitchenette unit and a minute bathroom. But, it was lovely and modern and new, with clean and soft bedding on the 3/4 bed, so no complaints.

Christian took some time to find a parking, but in the meantime I managed to get some great advice on local sights and eating spots from residents on their way into the building. By this time it was well after 21h00 and, on the good advice of our new neighbours, we nipped straight out to a bodega called Beti Boga in the next road to grab a quick bite.

Tapas has now been replaced with pintxos (nibblybits), racions (bigger portions of nibblybits) and bocadillas (baguettes). The bocadillas were very good with generous amounts of meats and grilled cheese, with fresh garnish for crunch. All washed down with a cervesa, of course.

It had been a long day on top of a short night so we were finished and hunkered down (relatively) early, comparatively.

TUESDAY

It was disappointing to wake up to grey skies, especially since Tuesday was supposed to be our San Sebastian beach day. Christian had popped down to the shops to get supplies so he made us scrambled eggs on fried bread (genius, since we had no toaster) in our kitchen (which is also our bedroom), while I started plotting a walking tour at our desk (which was also our dining room, coffee table and bedside table).

We crossed the bridge and made our way into Centro, did a turn through the Parte Vieja (where the old and famous buildings are) and were heading for a stroll along the waterfront at Playa de la Concha when the heavens opened.

We sought solace in Garagar… the local Irish pub… and listened to not very  Basque international chart tunes while we sipped not very Irish Cokes and played cards.

Luckily the rain ebbed long enough for us to find the tourist office so we could source a local map to organise our walking tour further and another to prepare our day trip to Santander in France the following day… and get to McDonalds to do all that over a McBacon!

With renewed energy and ambition, we took on Mont Urgell, climbing the steep hill to get to the bastions, castle walls and enormous statue of Christ that overlook the city and, best of all, Isla de Santa Clara (700m into La Concha bay, that I fondly refer to as “My Island”). It was a hefty climb, but so so worth it.

San Sebastian was really easily navigable once you had a tourist map, so it was easy peasy to then wander over to Playa de Zarriola and back again for a promenade stroll and some very civilised sundowners at La Perla overlooking Playa de La Concha.

It was a great section for people-watching. It was a far more glamourous and sophisticated city than Barcelona, probably largely due to an older population. The hotpants jeans shorts from Barcelona are replaced with lots of beige and twin sets in San Sebastian. And all the old ladies have dogs – Yorkies, Maltese, Boston Terriers… – which has made me very houndsick for the Sausages!

And sausages make me think of food…

Which makes me hungry…

So we went in search of food…

Which is an odd affair here.

Restaurants and pubs had their pintxos displayed on the bar counter and you picked and chose what you want. Hot pintxos were either displayed in “raw” form on the counter or listed on boards. It was sub-optimal thinking for me. I disliked the idea that the baguette open sandwiches are left lying around to get stale and I couldn’t reconcile eating a mouthful at a time at €2 – €4 a pop! So… we only had Txakoli (local wine) and moved on.

… finding a rock bar called Minuto Y Medio.

A tiny little place at the edge of town that caught our attention with their heavy metal themed menu and endless complimentary crisps. If it hadn’t been for the Kantxa (a shooter cross between Jagermeister and Sambuca) we might still be there!

WEDNESDAY

We were relieved when Wednesday morning was cloudy but bright, concerned that another day of rain would ruin our planned daytrip to France.  We celebrated with homemade boiled egg and soldiers, innovatively served in carved-off sections of the egg carton and prepared for evac.

HONDARRIBIA
We entered the city quite blind since we didn’t have a detailed street map, but instinct told us to stick to the marina, which we did and it paid off with a brilliant parking bay perpendicular to the road, that we could drive forward into! Simple pleasures indeed!

We’d seen a Turistico sign when we entered town so headed off on foot in that general direction. The town was very patriotic, with lots of houses, shops and apartments displaying the green, red and white Basque flag and the Hondarribia red cross and crest on white flag. This might not be a year-round phenomenon though as we found out later that 8 September sees the commemoration of victory over the city’s worst siege in history (in 1638), still celebrated annually with the Alarde parade.

There remained an air of festivity,  especially as we approached the old city, where there were families being entertained with music and people dressed up in strange caricature costumes with quite dramatic overgrown head masks.

Although this area has been inhabited since the Paleolithic Age,it only started fortifying in the Middle Ages after being granted its town charter in 1203. It was during the Renaissance that the city took on the form still showing (in part) today – the robust walls, strongholds, drawbridges and moats – and was so sturdily built that it resisted nine major military blockades, with a well preserved grid of cobblestone streets, stately buildings, wrought iron balconies and finely carved eaves to show for it.

It was well worth the half hour or so trot around the old city and, having secured a free walking tour map from the tourist office on Arma Plaza, we easily navigated around the narrow cobbled streets – and the bitesize snippets of info on the map tell you what you’re looking at.

As luck would have it, the exit gate at the end of our tour was right near our car so, all in all, it was quite an effortless stop!

BIARRITZ
Christian masterfully negotiated a seemingly endless series of roundabouts to get us on the road to France. A €1,70 toll (bringing tolls from San Sebastian to France to a total of €4,30) saw us cross the border with 25km to go to Biarritz.

It was a beautiful town with big elegant buildings lining a spectacular seaside, with a warm blanket of shops cushioning the shore – enough that there was everything you’d need; not so much to intimidate the day-visitor.

Again we easily secured a tourist map (available at any of the many hotels) and saw that there aren’t many formal sights per (discounting the naval museum and aquarium), so we busied ourselves with a review of the esplanade and an enormous filled baguette lunch in the Port Vieux enclave. This tiny beach was a genuine natural swimming pool with high rock walls on 3 sides facing the open sea. Napoleon III opened baths here in 1858, but subsequent the bathing huts have been replaced by the stairs and a horseshoe of freestone for bathers and sunworshippers to enjoy.

We opted to take on the more ambitious sights to work off lunch, including the best vantage points at Belle Vue and then top of the lighthouse – all 248 steps to the top of it! Built in 1834 and standing 73 metres above sea level it offers exceptional views over the Basque coast the sea and the mountains, but is very windy. Worth the €2,50 entrance fees, but not for the faint of heart with the number of stairs and the stairwell quite dark at the bottom and snug at the top where the lighthouse narrows.

The other option for similar views is then to walk across the footbridge to Rocher de la Vierge, which is a big rock in the sea that Napoloeon III planned to use to anchor a port he planned to create. He apparently didn’t get that far, but at least built the bridge so there was access to this peninsula from which you can admire the vast ocean in front and the landscape behind.

We’d planned our time well and as our 3 hour parking (metred at €4) was up, we were done. A very pleasant roadtrip all in all.

Back in San Sebastian, we deposited the car in the same neighbourhood it had been parked the night before – at the top of the hill near a grand old cemetery. It was a beautiful sunny evening so we decided to redo the walking tour from the previous day, with more patience and for better photos.

We didn’t even need to follow the map and as we now seemed to know our way around San Sebastian, even being able to find our favourite pintxos spot in the heart of the muddle of crossroads in Parte Vieja!

Back at Astlana 1960, we had txakoli and Keler and made an attempt at pintxos, ordering bacalao croquettes and bacalao with onions (bacalao is cod, which I’d never had before). The place was as full as the previous night, but luckily we got a table (well, a keg barrel and barstools). We seemed to be the only people that lingered and in the time it took us to have 3 drinks and pinxtos – which we ordered one at a time with our drinks – the clientele had turned over several times.

With the food all laid out on the counter, the experience seemed unlike any restaurants we have at home – people walk in and join the queue that runs the width of the bar; when they get to the front they load up a side plate with cold tapas off the platters on the bar counter and order hot tapas and drinks from the barman; then they move away and stand (mostly) around little cocktail table peninsulas affixed to the walls (some inside, mostly on the outside walls in the street; barman delivers hot tapas; eat, drink, move on… and presumably repeat. It didn’t seem like a whole lot of food was eaten in a meal – and it was a very expensive way to eat (although there is no obvious price displayed so this didn’t seem to be an issue). It also seemed to follow the Spanish disregard for mealtimes and as many people were filtering in at 22h00 when we left as were there when we arrived two hours prior!