Hello Hello

Bonjour Mesdames et Monsieurs

We arrived in Paris via Ryanair Airlines – very much a “no frills” airline. Plastic seats, no trays and everything, including water, coming at a price. We checked in on line the night before however, were not able to print our boarding passes as there was no printer available. On check in at the airport, we were told that passengers who check in on line, but do not print out their boarding passes, are required to pay an additional 10 Euro (about $18 AUD) per pass however, on this occasion he would waive the fee. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as considerate when it came to levying the 15 Euro PER KILO tax on baggage weighing in excess of the allowable 15 kilos. Jane and I had bags weighing 16 kilos each so we had to pay the 30 Euro prior to being given our boarding passes.

That aside, we had inadvertently also paid for priority boarding which meant we were given accelerated access to the plane and could then elect to sit anywhere we wanted prior to the “peasants” coming on board. Strangely enough, they too had plastic seats, no trays, had to pay for water and could sit anywhere they wanted to as well. Still trying to work out exactly what we paid extra for??

On arrival at Beauvaris Airport, we were herded onto a coach for the 80 klm trip into Paris. It was then a brief taxi ride costing about 10 Euro into the heart of Paris at our Hotel named Le Serre. This Hotel had been recommended to us by the Langfords and it was a terrific place ideally positioned to access all the major attractions in Paris. We were within two blocks of the Tour Eiffel (that’s French for Eiffel Tower for those not up on their basic Francais) and a short walk to major train and bus stops. Once we booked in and unpacked, Jane headed around the corner (literally) to do some washing at the Laundromat whilst I navigated my way to Montparnasse Train Terminal to acquire train tickets to Frankfurt for Thursday.

216 Euros later, I had the tickets in hand and slowly meandered my way through the streets of Paris taking in the beautiful buildings, the romantic settings and only mildly distracted by French men spitting in the street and French dogs defecating on the footpath. Inner city living is obviously as fashionable as dog ownership in Paris, and because the dogs appear to enjoy high rise habitation, on the rare occasions they are permitted to actually leave the confines of their homes, they take great delight in depositing all over the footpaths. Unlike Australians, Parisians have no apparent inclination to actually pick up after their dogs so the streets are littered with urine and excrement from dogs, nicely interspersed with sputum and pieces of unwanted rubbish such as cigarette wrappers which the French seem to have no difficulty simply casting to one side for someone else to clean up.

Perhaps in their own arrogant way, they may believe that to litter is to keep some poor wretch employed!!

As you may have gathered, I was very disappointed in this aspect of Parisian life. Anyway, back to the story.
I slowly meandered back to our hotel, slowly off course lest I get back before the washing was finished and be expected to assist. Needless to say, by the time I got back all was done. She may have “little legs”, but boy can she wash!!

Jane and I then went out to explore and took in the sights of the Tour Eiffel, the Avenue Des Champs-Elysees, les Arc De Triomphe Etole and other French things that you see in Paris. We were in awe of the shops (Jane the bags and shoes on offer, me the prices!!), the beautiful women parading on the Champs-Elysees in the latest fashions and the men spitting in the street and smoking Guilloises cigarettes whilst casting verbal aspersions and hurtful glances at the “English Peegs”!

We found a little café named “Le Petit Cler” (which for those non lingually gifted is French for “The Little Cler” – I don’t know what a Cler is so don’t ask!)

By the end of day 1 in Paris, Jane and I were exhausted. We had worked out a routine whereby she looked up at all the beautiful old buildings and majestic sights whilst I maintained diligent scrutiny of where we walked to ensure we avoided dog droppings or saliva. When she spotted something of note, we would either stop completely to take it all in or she would take up “turd patrol” whilst I took in the sights. Incredibly, we developed a natural synchronisation whereby words became unnecessary. If Jane was looking up, I automatically knew what my immediate responsibility was and kept my eyes acutely peeled for those dastardly “barkers eggs”!

All in all, our first day in Paris was exciting, humorous and wonderful all at the same time.

Day 2 dawned with rain and a howling cold wind. Our Hotel is located in a mall area that transforms into an open air Farmers Market each morning. Fresh vegetables, pastries, steaming hot meals and the wafting smell of brewed coffee assails the senses and stimulates the taste buds as soon as you venture into the street or look out of your room window.

Obviously, “little legs” (and big strong legs like mine) need nutrition so it was off to find fresh coffee and croissants for breakfast. We located a small, romantic café and it appeared that we were to be the first customers for the day. 2 latte’s and a croissant set us back 14 Euros – I now realise why we were the only customers there!!

From here, it was a direct but short walk to the end of the queue awaiting entry to the Eiffel Tower. We opted to join a shorter queue which meant having to pay a reduced price and actually walking the first 355 steps to get to level 1 of the tower. The main queue which provided elevator access had over an hour waiting time so we managed to walk up to the first level well ahead of the people awaiting the elevator. From level 1 of the Tower, the view is something to behold with a clear picture of Paris stretching out in all directions. The parklands, the churches and the residential sectors all suddenly become apparently clear in configuration and location relative to the central part of Paris.

We then purchased tickets for the elevator ride up to the second level of the tower. Thus far, the tickets for level 1 were 4.5 Euros each and the tickets for the second level were an extra 3 Euros. The elevator ride was relatively short however, the view from this level really started to open out the layout of Paris and its neighbouring suburbs.

An additional 3.5 Euros acquired us tickets for the summit of the Tower, however, here we stood in a queue for in excess of 40 minutes in some of the most howling cold wind I have ever experienced. Mt Hotham in a blizzard now seems like a cool spring day compared to the temperature, and winds, that struck us whilst in this queue. Eventually, it was our turn to enter the lift and we then began the ride of our lives. The lift accommodates about 12 people and has large glass doors front and rear. You actually travel directly up the centre of the Tour Eiffel in this lift with only the tower’s superstructure around you. For those like myself that are less than comfortable at heights, this became a real challenge. But for the presence of “little legs” holding my hand and calming me with reassurances such as “if you vomit I’m divorcing you” I don’t think I would have made it.

Once the lift arrives, you exit into a glass enclosed area with the option of one final set of stairs which takes you into the mesh enclosed, yet open to the wind and other elements, summit of the Eiffel Tower. From here, the only words which can adequately describe the view is “magnificent”. The sheer spectacle of viewing everything within a 60 kilometre radius of the Tower is a sight to behold and one that neither of us will ever forget. The grandeur of, les Arc De Triomphe Etole, the beauty of Notre Dame Cathedral and its period descriptive peaks, the curves and craftsmanship evident in the church of Sacre Coeur, the Musee’ de l’Armee, the Trocadero, le Place de la Concorde – the list goes on and on (and so do I says Jane) however, the brilliance of being up so high and actually viewing these beautiful sights rather than just reading about them left quite an impact on me. I honestly believe that living in Australia, we tend to shrug our shoulders when we hear about these places and sights as if they don’t really matter all that very much however, I can tell you that from my perspective, they take on a whole new significance when you are exposed to them visually and make the connection with history that they represent.

After we had feasted on the view for well over an hour, we reluctantly allowed other people to have a look and began the descent. This was accomplished in a remarkably short time and 3 quick elevator rides later we were back on terra firma and amongst the gathering masses.

It was about this time that Jane and I remembered that we hadn’t eaten since breakfast so a quick side trip to the local McDonalds for le burger de poisson (fish burger) for Jane and a poullet avec cheeps (chicken and chips) for moi.

Suitably refreshed and nourished, we ventured off to further explore the sights of the Champs Elysees and surrounding streets. We saw concept vehicles on display from Citroen, Peugeot and Toyota and this really were something to see. I took photos and won’t be surprised to see some of these vehicles actually on the road in the next couple of years – all focussed on aerodynamics, hybrid technology and eco friendly.

The rest of the day was spent imitating classic tourists – heads back, mouths open and continually muttering the words “look at this – what about that” etc etc.

As evening began to close around us, we took the short stroll to our hotel via a bakery shop and armed with 2 baguettes which resembled Darth Vader’s light sabre, a packet of Prosciutto, some Chorizo sausage, a packet of Goudam fromage (cheese for those still struggling with the language) and a small bottle of wine, dined on our sumptuous morsels reflecting on the day that was. Spit and turds aside, I could get used to this style of life!

A hot shower, a quick peck goodnight and “little legs” was gone. Jane gave the perfect impression of Andrew Ettingshausen as once described by the famous Jack Gibson – “she was that fast she could turn out the light and be in bed before the room went dark”!

Day 3 began much as day 2 – crema café (milk coffees) with fresh pastries although this time we found a place which didn’t require the use of a Visa card to pay for it – 8 Euros for the lot.

We then jumped on a tour bus similar to the one we did in London – hop on hop off – which was valid for 2 days and included a river cruise on the tranquil Seine River. Ear plugs in, commentary set for English and we sat back and absorbed the narrative of history, of bloody wars and revolutions, of public beheadings and of love found and lost. We became participants in civil uprisings, imaginary observers of the imposition of martial law and casual listeners during the hedonistic days of painters, poets and bohemians meeting for coffee and vigorously debating philosophy, politics and the virtue of women and wine.

We travelled by bus to the Moulin Rouge which is situated in Montmarte – an area which actually resembled Kings Cross in its hey day. Complete with sex shops, prostitutes, live “peep shows” and the usual gathering of old, unshaven blokes wearing long coats and offering boiled lollies to passers by, we mingled with the crowds and climbed the hill to the historic church called Sacre Coeur. We were very fortunate to enter the church during a prayer vigil being undertaken by about 12 nuns. The beauty of their voices when singing the hymns of worship was uplifting and reverential and Jane and I both lit candles in memory of our loved ones – momentarily reflecting on those who have past and humbly requesting continued health for our dear family and friends.

We then jumped back on the bus and this time found our way to the Notre Dame Cathedral. How does one describe both the outside and inside of this magnificent piece of architecture, of religious significance and historic record?

We walked through the entire cathedral and were overcome by the uniqueness of its interior. Multiple sections existed within the church surrounding the main alter and these were for the purposes of confession and/or prayers to specific saints. Jane lit another candle here and engaged in private prayer whilst I wandered about and discreetly overheard a number of confessions. Needless to say, a quick exchange of Euros ensured nothing I heard will ever be repeated!

Beyond Notre Dame, it was another leg of the bus tour, this time via the Louvre, the Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, the Trocadero and the Tour Eiffel.

Another full day completed, and it was dinner at a local French restaurant named the Tribeca which brought back memories of our time together in New York in 2002 and walking around the Tribeca area of Manhattan (that’s another story for another time).

Wednesday began with our usual breakfast however, pre-empted by a carton of Moroccan strawberries purchased from a fruit shop right next door to our hotel. These were the biggest strawberries I had ever seen yet were sweeter and more flavoursome than any I had ever tasted before. Jane absolutely loved them and insisted on continuing her telephone conversation with Peter Bull from Optus whilst munching on same (apologies from Jane to you Peter).

Back onto our tour bus, this time direct to the Louvre which we had pre purchased tickets to enter, thereby avoiding the queues we had been advised would be in place. On entry, we followed the millions (there were lots anyway) of tourists making their way into the Denon wing to see a well known finger painting by a bloke named De Vinci called the Mona Lisa (Jodie Grimmond – Jane says you would love it if you saw the artwork on display in the Louvre – tell Dicky to start saving up for our next trip together).

The Mona Lisa is as beautiful, as mysterious and as awe inspiring as we have all been led to believe. There is something indescribable about standing in the same room, let alone directly in front of, one of the most famous works of art in history. I have some wonderful photographs of Jane and Mona together, both smiling and following everyone in the room with their eyes. But for her backpack, I may very well have walked off with the wrong woman – so striking was the similarity between the girls.

Bidding our new friend Mona a fond farewell (she seemed both happy yet dismayed that we were leaving - judging by the wry grin she gave us) we toured the Egyptian antiquities on display and both wondered whether there was any artefacts actually left in Egypt. The size and volume of this display was incredible, ranging from tiny pottery images of cat like gods and miniature sphinx (not sure what the plural of sphinx is/are but you get my drift) to a number of actual sarcophagus’ (mummies and their tombs for those rare few who are not familiar with Egyptian antiquities displays). A very impressive display and well worth the time to enjoy. A tour through the actual moat of an ancient castle which once stood where the Louvre sits today into another wing of the building, this time to see the beautiful statue of Aphrodite (known more commonly as Venus de Milo) – a Roman statue located off the isle of Crete. Again, wonderfully humbling to share the room with another historical.

It would take a full 3 days to truly view all that the Louvre has to offer. After the better part of half a day, both Jane and I were well and truly knocked up and slightly claustrophobic due to the size and constant movement of the crowds.

We decided we had seen enough of the works of Renoir, de Vinci, the Edmond de Rothschild Collection, art from 7000 BC Mesopotamia, the Renaissance and the immense private and public collections of objects d’art dating from the 7th to the 19th centuries. All in all, a most culturally enlightening day for us both.

A left turn, then a right, then straight ahead and we found ourselves back on the Champs Elysees. We then climbed the 284 steps to the top of the Arc d’Triomphe and again were granted the most gorgeous views of the Champs Elysees, the surrounding parklands and Paris generally. A casual stroll from there back to our hotel enabled us to start our packing in preparation of the next days train trip to Frankfurt. After packing all of our goods and chattels, we headed back to the Champs Elysees for our final dinner and night in gay Paris. We found a wonderful place on the Champs Elysees within 200 metres
of the Arc d’Triomphe and were treated to a magnificent sun set and the light show accompanying same silhouetting the Arc d’Trimomphe.

After pasta, veal, chocolate mousse and wine, we wandered off to the Eiffel Tower to witness the night light of the Tower and the ½ hourly strobe effects which engulf the entire tour for 4 minutes. We were fortunate enough to capture this on still and video photography – truly a sight to behold.

From there, back home to bed and an early start the next morning.

The 6am alarm gave us both a start and it was out of bed, into the shower and up and away. A cab happened to chance by and we were in the back and shoving directions at the cabbie before he could get a “bon jour – ca va” out. We were required to get to a train station named the Gare de l’Est which was well and truly on the other side of Paris from where we were staying. Unbeknown to us, we had managed to jump into a cab being driven by none other than the bastard son of Nelson Piquet and just like his famous father during the 1996 Le Mans, young Nelson managed to get us there in a heartbeat and using driving techniques (not to mention footpaths, median strips and on one occasion, someone’s private driveway) not normally experienced by the layman. A screech of brakes, a hint of accelerator and finally, a hand brake turn saw Jane and I execute perfectly synchronised combat rolls out of the cab and landing squarely next to our luggage. A quick payment of 24 Euros (tip included) saw young Nelson disappear trailing a puff of smoke and the acrid taste of burning Avon rubber tyres in our mouths.

7.15am saw us in the train station despite the fact our train didn’t depart until 9.09am. Jane was adamant that we be there well before departure time to ensure nothing went amiss. I, on the other hand, was completely at ease with the aspect of timing – my new philosophy being that whilst ever there is coffee, croissants and somewhere to spit, I am happy to be a French man!!

The Gare de l’Est is a major commencement and interchange point for train travel throughout Europe. As such, there are a vast number of platforms, a vast number of trains and an even vaster (is that a word?) number of people regularly commuting into and out of the station. Backpacks on our backs, and totally lost looks on our faces, we wandered about and made our way to Platform 3 where a few minutes prior to departure time, the actual platform of our train was advertised. One thing about the French, they don’t believe in advance notification – just before something is meant to happen, and not a moment sooner, will they actually inform you of same.

As it turned out, the train we were to travel in was the actual train that set the world train speed record in November 2007 at a speed of 584kph. This is proudly displayed, in huge lettering, on the side of the train and as we settled into our seats, I envisaged a sense of déjà vu from my Peugeot driving days in Ireland. Needless to say, once we took off and got up to speed, it became obvious this was not the Hooterville Express making its way into Petticoat Junction. This train (or should I say land based Concorde) travelled at amazing speeds and we seemed to have gotten from Paris France to Frankfurt Germany in record time. As it turned out, the ride was that quiet and comfortable that Jane and I had fallen asleep therefore assumed the trip was really quick. Amazingly, the train was due to depart Paris at 9.09am and arrive at Frankfurt at 1.35pm. I say amazingly because that is exactly what happened – to the minute. No graffiti, no hoodlums and no breakdowns. Viva Le France!!

Frankfurt greeted us with sunshine and our first really clear skies since we left Australia. We walked out to the cab rank to be confronted by a number of C and E class Mercedes all painted cream bearing “Taxi” signs. Uncanny and somewhat disquieting to see a queue of Mercedes as Cabs rather than dropping school kids off at Vaucluse. To separate ourselves from the run of the mill tourists, Jane and I opted for a fully optioned, leather seat and tinted windows fitted Skoda station wagon taxi being driven by a Russian immigrant who spoke “taxi driver English”. We had a ball with this guy who was a font of (apparent) knowledge – only thing was we couldn’t understand what he was telling us. Nonetheless, between my German, his English and Jane yelling, we managed to convey our destination to him and some very short time later, (and about 15 klms) we pulled into an Industrial Estate to collect our Motor Home.

What greeted us here was a slick, well run and well managed motor home hire business which we had organised, via the Intranet, from Australia last October. I had read a number of internet traveller blogs from tourists who had motor homed around Europe and unanimously, all agreed that the cheapest place to hire a motor home was in Germany, hence our arrival in Frankfurt. This all turned out to be entirely true and the price paid by us was about 60% of what was being asked by motor home hirers in places such as France, Spain, Amsterdam and Belgium.

We were met by English speaking people who were bright, friendly and obviously well used to dealing with tourists. After the completion of required paperwork, we were required to watch a 20 minute, professionally produced DVD (in English) on the workings of motor homes including operation of the 3 way fridge (gas, electric and diesel), the water heater (for the on board shower), the cabin and sleeping area climate control regulators and all the other necessary bits and pieces that make up the motor home. We were then given a detailed inspection of our motor home and shown various additional operational features of the unit. Our motor home is based on a Fiat Ducato, is a 3.5 tonne unit, 6 speed manual diesel 3.5 litre motor, and comes with a shower, chemical flushing toilet, kitchen and stove, huge double bed, no end of cupboard and storage spaces, a dining table, seating for 5 and also includes an external bike rack (we had indicated our preference for this as we intend to buy some cheap bikes and ride around a bit) and an outdoor table and chairs.

The motor home was pristine in condition and presentation and had a total of 1,405 klms on the clock when we picked it up. The company guarantees no motor home hired will be older than 2 years old and from the look of all the other motor homes awaiting collection, they are as good as their word.

We threw all our things into the back and with the best wishes of the owners, bid them farewell with a promise to return in 26 days.

I must admit the first tentative klms were anxious for me – here I was in an unfamiliar vehicle, on the wrong side of the road in an area I had never been before in a country I hadn’t seen in over 30 years and Jane was armed with a street directory supplied to us entirely written in German.

To our own amazement, and to the amusement of many motorists and pedestrians, we managed to motor our way back onto the freeway and headed roughly due south to find a camp site for the night. We had picked up a brochure for a place called the “Frankfurt City Camp” which, according the (again German only version) brochure, looked quite good and within site of Frankfurt City. To get there, Jane and I collaborated and determined that we would need to get onto the A661 which turned out to be the right decision however, the A661 is an Autobahn with vehicles regularly travelling up to 180 kph. I managed to get the motor home up to a respectable 140 kph a few times and the only way to describe the sensation is to momentarily pretend that you are sitting in your lounge chair at home whilst your house is transported on the back of an aeroplane somewhere.

Driving a 3.5 tonne motor home at that speed on a motor way in Germany whilst being overtaken by Porsche’s, BMW’s, Audi’s and the occasional Maserati or Ferrari is a wonderful experience for the completely insane or anyone having a terminal illness and no real plans for whatever time remains of their life!

By sheer luck, a few disagreements and relying heavily on Australian intuition (eg “Geez Jane, how did you get us here – I would have gone left back there if you weren’t here helping”) we managed to get ourselves to the Frankfurt City Camp.

My German language skills are not great however, I am now completely convinced that the “Frankfurt City Camp” is the English translation of Auschwitz. A more run down, stinking, dank and ominous place I have yet to travel to! Even Siberia (or for our Melbourne readers Broadmeadow) on a winters day would be brighter, and more welcoming, than this place. It was occupied, in parts, by broken down and abandoned caravans, blokes living in tents and walking around in just long pants and no shirts, despite the cool temperatures by the time we got there, a Spanish couple who could not speak English but insisted on asking me questions about motor homes and wanting me to look at their caravan on wheels, and a german woman next to us who had a big black dog living in her van and she insisted that it share our baguettes with us when she visited us during our dinner outside the van.

I don’t recall passing through a time tunnel or entering some far off land when we arrived at this place, but I must say on reflection it was bloody funny. I half expected Alan Funt (or for the younger readers Ashton Kulcher in “Punked”) to pop out of one of the abandoned caravans whilst filming an episode of Candid Camera.

The toilet block was clean however, to have a shower you required a token which could only be purchased from the office – which was shut as the owner wanted to sit down with his mate and have a beer where we could all see him – and would not re-open until 10am the next morning. Jane and I met up with two Australian girls camping there overnight in a small kombi van, Anna who is on an extended holiday touring Europe with her boyfriend (who was away for a couple of days somewhere) and Ashleigh, from Queensland, who lives in London and popped over to Germany to catch up with Anna for a couple of days. Anna gave us the tip in relation to a number of camping places around Europe and confirmed for us that the “Frankfurt City Camp” was by far Europe’s worst camping ground.

There’s a hint for any would be campers intending to travel to Germany!

Anyway, Anna had previously stayed at a camping ground in Lyon, France and recommended the place to us, including giving us a brochure of the place which looked great. We had intended to travel back into France anyway so decided we would head off the next morning early to do so. Unfortunately, due to the fact that we had not purchased any shower tokens the night before, nor paid in advance for our accommodation overnight, we may not have been able to get away early. As luck would have it, the cleaners came into the shower block as Jane, Anna, Ashleigh and I were discussing our options and they were able to access the required tokens for us in exchange for a small amount of Euros. Jane and the girls headed off to their shower block and I went into mine only to be followed by the female cleaner who, it turned out, was rostered to clean the men’s shower room. I had to enter my cubicle fully clothed, then reached over the door to put the token into the slot to get hot water, only to be completely drenched by the shower which some imbecile had left turned fully on the last time the shower was used. It turned out the token gave you 4 minutes (and not a second more) of hot water so most people appear to simply leave the shower turned on and wait til the water stops rather than turn it off – hence my drenching!

Like all good things, the shower had to end and 4 minutes later, it did.

We packed up the motor home, stood around waiting for 10am to arrive so we could settle up with “Hans” the world’s unfriendliest, most uninformative and hostile camping ground owner one could ever be unlucky enough to meet. We paid up, bid him a fond farewell with a genuine promise we would never be back and would recommend his place to everyone we absolutely detested and drove off as quickly as possible. When last sighted, Anna and Ashleigh were on their way to Dusseldorf and we headed south to Lyon.

In comparison to everything we have done, experienced, seen, spoken of and even discussed so far on this trip, the 740 klm trip from Frankfurt to Lyon using the Autobahn’s of Germany and the Motorways of France was strangely uneventful. By the end of the days drive I found myself becoming quite at ease with the speeds on the roads, the motor home’s unique handling and driving on the right hand side of the road. I must however admit that it is imperative to continually remind yourself to drive on the right, stay on the right hand side of roundabouts and look the wrong way first when coming to intersections. I am sure by the time this trip is over, or at least by the time Lone and Grahame Langford come to meet us for our month in Italy together, driving on the right hand side will very much be second nature.

Lone, if you are reading this - I know there is only about 28 sleeps to go!!

After a long days driving, and plenty of time for Jane and I to reflect on the trip thus far, to discuss our respective families and friends and to marvel at how fortunate we are to be doing this trip, we arrived in a small place named Dardilly which is just outside Lyon. We pulled into a camping place called the Indigo International Camp and it is fantastic – exactly what Anna had recommended to us and more. We immediately arranged to stay for 2 nights and after settling in to a site of our choice, hooked the power up, wound out the awning on the side of the motor home and sat ourselves down to a dinner of French bread, about 4 varieties of stuffed olives (yes Judy, Jane is actually eating olives with me) and an assortment of dips.

Sitting under a cloudless French night sky with a table full of fine foods, peaceful surrounds and a fully equipped motor home, I really could relate to Michael Caton as the father Kerrigan in “The Castle”.

Ah, Serenity!!

This morning, “little legs” and I, small back packs in place, hoofed it up the street to actually do some grocery shopping, but first, a quick café stop for juice, coffee and croissants. Feeling fully refreshed after a good nights sleep and duly fortified by our French breakfast, Jane and I entered shopping nirvana.

The shopping centre we found less that ½ a mile from our camp ground is absolutely enormous. After quickly taking in the vastness of it all, Jane and I agreed we would engage in this mission like the finely drilled soldiers that we are, adopting a military approach of conquering the objective using a dual assault from both flanks. We rolled up our sleeves, high five’d each other and entered the quagmire from opposing directions.

Having been tasked by Jane to attend to the acquisition of washing powder, I busied myself in the relative department by picking up each and every clothes detergent available and on offer. This consumed almost the first hour of my shopping tour of duty. Bordering on surrender, I was forced to engage the enemy and sought the assistance of a shelf stacking French man who appeared sympathetic to my plight. Unfortunately, although he spoke English, he had no clue about matters such as washing clothes! After all, he explained to me, “theeees is wooomans wooork – I cannot know theeess theeeeengs”! I agreed wholeheartedly, and after we both let out a spontaneous “Sacre Bleu”, we went in search of a “woooman” who knew of such trivial theeeengs.

3 male shop assistants, a check out girl and the senior female supervisor later, all who wanted to argue in French, complete with hand gestures and raised voices, which washing powder was in fact the best for my purposes, I left the aisle in question armed with a box of OMO, much to the disgust of my congenial shelf stacking mate who felt the whole exercise was below me and that I should let my wife do “theeess theeengs” whilst I occupy my time on more important things (like drinking coffee, eating croissants and spitting somewhere I guess??)

I finally managed to track down Jane some time later and armed with my box of OMO, saw that she had vanquished the enemy and in fact gathered all the necessary groceries and associated bits and pieces that we needed. I innocently, in conversation, explained that I had been through a fairly trying time acquiring the washing powder and won’t reprint here what she told me I could do at that point of time with my washing powder!!. I took this as indicative of the fact she may have had some trouble of her own getting the shopping trolley of goods she had acquired over the one and a half hours I took to get the powder.

Anyway, I put the whole thing down to Jane being a little home sick and perhaps not understanding the way we men in France do things so I bit my lip and dutifully carried the groceries back to our campsite. Jane unpacked the groceries and I attended to more masculine jobs including sweeping the dirt, straightening up some weeds I found behind our motor home and responding with a “yes dear” each time Jane told me to do something!

This evening, we have spent a most pleasant time just sitting around talking, reading back over some of our collected brochures and daily travel journal entries and again feasting of fine French delicacies like smoked meats, cheeses and sipping on some excellent locally produced wine.

Tomorrow, we head off to Montpellier on the south eastern coast of France and intend to spend a couple of days there soaking up the sun and swimming. From there, we will be heading to Perpignon, then hugging the Costa Brava coast all the way to Barcelona.

We both hope this blog is entertaining to all of you who are reading it. We really enjoy reading your comments so please keep them coming and if there are any specific things you want to know or if you have any travel advice regarding places to see or go to around the areas we are travelling, please let us know. We have lots of time and only a general plan on where to go based on what we have seen or heard about places.

Hope you are all well – be assured you are in our thoughts and the subject of many discussions.

More photos coming - we promise.

Love to all

Madame Jane and Monsieur Rick