Tag: France

Provence, France, July 2023

July 13, 2023 /

3rdto 5th July – Stansted to Toulon – The flight from Stansted in the UK was pretty much as expected, awful. There seem to be systems in place at Stansted Airport to make people walk as far as possible to get on a plane, and there is a great deal of lining up to do. We paid extra to get ‘fast-tracked’ through security and immigration, but that it a relative term. It was off-putting to stand in the ‘Fast-Track’ queue and watch other people walk through the normal gates alongside us. The plane was half an hour late taking off, but it didn’t get cancelled, so that was something. We had a toasted roll on the plane, mine was too hot to touch on the outside and semi-frozen in the middle. Ah well, you get what you pay for and Ryan Air is quite cheap.

At Marseille Airport, immigration breezed us through very quickly. I really don’t think they looked at us or the passport at all, it was just stamped. The lack of any signage at all made it difficult to find the bus that took us to the Airport Station, about 4kms away, where and got on a train for Marseille. There we waited for around an hour before catching another train to Toulon.

Toulon surprised us when we exited the station to a spacious and very clean plaza. We had one long street to walk down and soon found our apartment. It was a bit of a dive, comfortable enough, but not one of our better choices, with a spiral staircase that looked like it was made in the 15th Century, a bed threatened to suffocate us we fell into it so far, and, worst of all, no toaster. On the other hand, the location was excellent, with easy access to the shopping areas, the medieval part of the city filled with plazas and cafes, and the beautiful port area. Toulon boasts that it has the prettiest harbour in Europe, and it may well do, because it is certainly attractive. It is busy too, with large sea-going ferries heading to Corsica and Sardinia. It is France’s main naval base, with the huge nuclear powered carrier Charles DeGaulle home ported there. Small cross-harbour ferries are very regular, and there appeared to be a number of marinas and resorts on the other side.

We settled in to the apartment and headed out to find some refreshment and a supermarket. We found the first one in a pretty little plaza, with a fountain bubbling away. There are plazas everywhere in the old part of the city, most filled with alfresco cafes and having a fountain of sorts. I assume the large number of fountains comes from the abundance of groundwater, the surrounding nearby mountains being limestone and therefore a good soak and storage for a water supply. We sat a little too long and enjoyed two beers, but the supermarket finally drew us away. While shopping, we met a young Australian couple who have been travelling for 7 months. They had been in Marseille and said the rioting there made it quite uncomfortable, affirming our decision to change our stay to Toulon.

The next morning, we set off to wander the plazas and beautiful walking streets of the old town. There are many grand stone buildings, including the large Opera House, and a great many medieval apartment houses, tucked into tiny alleyways. The streets are easy to walk on and clean, a rare find in Europe. Our walk took us down to the port area, where we spied the little Toulon Tourist Street Train. It looked like a bargain at 8€ each for an hour of commentary tour. It was a terrific way to get a snapshot look at Toulon, taking us along the port and explaining the various parts, the local and inter-island ferries, the naval bases and old ship building areas. We did a tour of the Mourillon Beaches, a series of four beautiful beaches that looked very inviting. We also got a good idea of the layout of the commercial and shopping districts, surprised at just how extensive the city is, and how busy, away from the relative quiet of the historical centre with its lack of cars.

Top – a strange but beautiful ending to a building
Bottom – One of the beautiful beaches

Once back at the port, we headed for a seafront restaurant offering Moulles et Frit (Mussels and Fries) in a variety of flavours. Christine chose a basil and goats cheese base while I went for a carbonara base. Two huge tureens of mussels arrived with sides of frits and bread to soak up the juices. We filled our bellies while watching the ferries come and go and the interesting passing parade of people. The rising heat sent us back home for the day, venturing forth a little later to pick up a small pizza for dinner.

Top – Moulles et Frits
Bottom – one of the big ferries to Corsica and Sardinia

On our last day, we set off to investigate the Lafayette Market, a street market that runs along Cours Lafayette for four blocks. It is mostly fresh fruit and veg, all of superb quality, and it explains why the offerings in the nearby supermarkets are so scant, with the market running in the morning six days a week. Christine did manage to find some casual shorts at the clothes stalls. We were also excited to spy a little cart, selling a local street snack called cade. We had been on the lookout because it sounded interesting. Cade is basically a thick pancake made of chickpea flour, salt and water, then fried on a hot griddle to give slightly charred surface. It was delicious and makes the perfect snack to eat while wandering the streets.

The Tourist Bureau is at the port end of Cours Lafayette and from there we bought an all day bus pass, enabling us to take the #40 bus up the mountain to the cable car station. A two car system runs up to the top of Mount Faron, 584m above the city and is part of the public transport system and so included in the all day ticket. The car was rather crowded on the way up and there were the usual gasps and concerned looks when the car first took off and bounced a little on the cable. An interesting feature was the panel of glass in the floor of the car, especially when we were passing over an area of housing. The ride certainly produced the views we were hoping for, being able to see right across the harbour to the small resort towns opposite. There are a few walk trails and eateries at the top, but little was open, except for the restaurant and café at the cable station. We just enjoyed the view over an orange juice, soaking up the cooling breeze and the scenery. The trip down was better, with only a few people in the car, so we were able to pick out the scenes we wanted to focus on.

In the afternoon, we had planned a bus ride to the beaches, but after a siesta, we emerged to find a very fresh breeze had come in, that would have been onshore, so we abandoned the idea.  We have thoroughly enjoyed our short time in Toulon and regret that we did not have longer. What we have seen of the French Riviera looks wonderful, and it could entice us back some time to explore more of this interesting coast.

 

6 July Toulon to Avignon – We had our first big travel error today. We got to Toulon Station with no issues and waited for a track announcement for our train to Marseille with a transfer to Avignon. When it came time to board, we headed for the gate and the lady scanned our e-tickets. No! We got a barred entry. She checked the tickets; right train so tried again. Tried to do a manual thing via the web site but no go. Finally, she called another person for assistance, who straight away noticed the problem. Our ticket was for 7th of July, not 6th of July. Damn! They suggested we head for a ticket machine or go online to see if we could change the date. Off we went, first to the ticket office where the man explained that he could not change a ticket, we needed to do it online. We went to an online machine and tried, getting some assistance to change it but it proved hopeless, the only offering was to take a 1st class ticket change for more than a new ticket would cost. We had to swallow the 68€ cost and buy new tickets. We went back to the ticket office where the man explained that he could not sell us a ticket, we had to buy it online (I’m not sure what he COULD do). With time ticking down, Christine secured two new tickets online and we headed for the gate. Just as we approached it, with 10 minutes to spare and quite a few other people, they closed the gate. That action was followed by lots of shouting and some people just pushing past the ticket inspectors towards the train. They shouted back. We found a sympathetic person who looked like she would let us get on, but again, our tickets refused to validate. Finally, after much exasperation, it was discovered that Christine had purchased tickets on another, slower train, departing from Platform C, not Platform A. We headed off towards Platform C, which required no ticket inspectors of any kind and got on the train. I am sure the French think there is a system but in reality, there is none. We have never had a ticket checked on a train in France and we probably could have saved a lot of money by just getting on the Platform C train.

Fortunately, the change of trains in Marseilles went smoothly and we were on our way to Avignon, running along the shores of Marseilles for a while. The sea was dead flat and it all looked very inviting, with lots of yachts and a couple of cruise ships in port. Hopefully, we have seen the end of the civil disturbances, although French authorities have issued warnings for July 14&15, the French National Bastille Day.

The arrival at Avignon was easy, that is, until we exited the station. We had received instructions from our host that we could catch the #5 bus from the Post Office, just inside the city walls. The city walls presented across the road from the station, the only trouble being that the station plaza had been dug up completely and a makeshift walkway led to the road, the long way round. We crossed the road, made our way back up to the gate and through the walls, which were quite spectacular but we are rather used to amazing city walls by now. We found the stop for bus 5 and settled down to wait. I saw a sign in French that I interpreted as saying the bus stop outside the station would cease to operate as of tomorrow. A local woman confirmed my reading of it, but expressed a worry that there weren’t any buses coming. Eventually, she went off to check and came back telling us that we had to move to the train station stop. We followed her, and waited a long time, before finally catching the bus. We crossed the Rhone River and the bus dropped us in the historic town of Villeneuve les Avignon at a stop right outside our accommodation. By the time we got inside, we were quite exhausted from what had been a really horrible day of travel. Wherever possible, we will stick to coach travel from now on, the cost and crazy service of the French trains being too much for us.

The apartment was very comfortable and cool, a blessing since the heat outside had risen to around 32ºC. We walked down through the village to a small market store to get something for dinner and had a beer at the Aubergine Restaurant in the Central Square. The village is very beautiful, all old stone buildings. Villeneuve les Avignon sits opposite Avignon across the Rhone River. When a bridge was finally built over the river around 1300AD a tower on the Villeneuve side controlled access and the city gained power. It became even more important when the Popes relocated from Rome to Avignon for much of the 14th Century and many Cardinals built palaces in Villeneuve. There was quite a power struggle between the King of France and the Papacy that involved the two towns as a face-off point. All this has resulted in a glorious hilltop town with some very famous buildings, the most dominant of which is the Fort of the Abbot, The Fort of Saint Andre, a huge bastion that overlooks the town. The Chartreuse, another famous complex within the town is a former Carthusian Monastery. It all made for a wonderful place to stroll, shop, and seek refreshment.

The Fort of the Abbot, Tower Phillip le Bel, antiques market

On Saturday morning, an enormous antiques market was held in the front of the town, with hundreds of sellers displaying an amazing variety of goods, from old furniture to pieces of armour and old weapons, antique jewellery, and a great many paintings. We wandered up and down the stalls, seeing many very interesting items, but fortunately, having no means of transporting anything so buying nothing. It was a good thing really.

The town square and courtyard of the Chartreuse

We spent a day in Avignon, using the bus to travel the 4kms back into the city. The bus dropped us at the Porte d’Oulle. Avignon is one of the few French cities with a medieval wall still intact and much of the city it encloses is still composed of medieval buildings. The heat was starting to climb so a tree covered line of cafes enticed us to sit for a while with an orange juice. It took two places to get served, the first woman glaring at us like we were poison and preferring to wipe down tables rather than approach us. When three young men who came in and sat down were immediately served, we took the hint and left. The next place was fine.

Nearby, a TV crew was set up and doing an interview with a woman seated at a table. There was also a ticket booth nearby and a lot of billboard posters advertising various performances of comedy, dance and theatre acts. We managed to work out that the Festival Off, an annual arts festival, was beginning the following day and promotion was in full swing. Everywhere we went, walls were smothered in advertising and groups of performers travelled around the city advertising their productions with little pop-up theatre acts. There was operatic singing, acrobatic performances, tap dancing, mime, and groups in period costume (no doubt feeling wonderful in the heat). It was endless and we had trouble refusing the numerous flyers being thrust into our hands, knowing that they would just head for the rubbish bin.

The two level carousel, a wall full of flyers for the festival and the city walls

We made our way through the city to the Place du Palais, a large plaza that is the centre piece of the old city. It is overlooked by the Palais du Popes, where seven Popes lived during 14th Century. A tourist train runs from there every half hour or so but it had already filled, so we walked back down the nearby Place de l’Horloge watching more street theatre and the marvellous carousel, the only two level carousel we have seen.

Back to the Palais du Popes, we boarded the train, finding ourselves sitting in front of a family from Sydney and so we compared travel notes. The trains are the best way of quickly touring small cities, especially medieval ones with their narrow streets. The ride took us high up the hill above the Palais du Popes to the Garden area (Jardin des Doms) to get some panoramic views of the river and beyond. We got some great views of Villeneuve across the river and the famous Bridge of Avignon, actually named Pont Saint-Benezet rather than Pont d’Avignon that the famous nursery rhyme refers to. These days, it only crosses half of the narrower arm of the Rhone, the rest of it collapsing back in the 18th Century. The train wove in and out of the walls as it moved from one feature to another and we thoroughly enjoyed an informative hour-long tour.

The Palais du Popes, remains of the Pont d’Avignon and the little tourist train

By the time the tour was over, the heat had risen to around 35ºC so it was time to seek refreshment then head home to the cool. Once again, we stopped at a place, gained the attention of a girl as we sat down and waited. We did talk briefly to an English couple and that must have put the girl off because she ignored us. So did the man that said he would be back, but preferred to clean tables. We must have the wrong clothes on or perhaps these people are still angry about the loss of the submarine contract. Who knows, but we went back to the place where we had orange juice and had a beer.

As we prepare to move on to Grenoble, under the shadow of the Alps and Mont Blanc, we look in horror at the weather forecasts, with the next three days heading up to 38ºC. We anticipated this and made sure we only took apartments with air-conditioning for the rest of our trip north to Frankfurt, our flying out destination.

 

Grand Theatre, Place de Comedie

Bordeaux 2012

June 25, 2012 /

A Youtube video of our time in Bordeaux can be seen here.

19 June Paris to Bordeaux

We left our hotel around 9am to walk the 1.5km to Gare de L’Est. From there, we could use the Metro to travel across Paris to Gare Montparnasse, our jump off point for a train to Bordeaux. Our luggage consists of a large and a small backpack each, along with a collapsible hand trolley. Sometimes, when we see people just grab their wheeled suitcases off an airport carousel and cruise away, we are envious. At other times, when we see people struggle with the tiny wheels and unbalanced cases on the cobbled streets outside a train station, we are pleased with our choice, even more so when we see a couple marching stoically along with 20kg plus strapped to their backs. Somehow, the girl is always in the rear and looking like she needs two hours in a spa. The streets of Paris are not too bad but the narrow cobbled streets of Bordeaux proved the need for the larger wheels of our little trolleys.

A TGV Train

The TGV trains of Western Europe are fast, comfortable but not ridiculously cheap. We paid 73€ ($A92) each for 2nd class tickets. We could have got them for as low as 20€ by booking several months in advance with no cancellation or change allowed. The train was full as it left Paris, but rapidly emptied over the first few stops, of which it made six or so. We shared our set of four seats with a French woman and a young man who had two small girls. One was beautifully behaved and obediently responded with a “Oui Papa” to all orders. The other, somewhat younger, responded negatively to everything. She squirmed, demanded, cried, whined and grizzled. The French woman sitting next to this performance, showed incredible patience, as did Papa, but we still exchanged quite a few deep and meaningful looks with the other woman to share our feelings at being saddled with this imposition.

The woman left the train at stop two and the man and his beasts a little later on. We were able to stretch out and watch the countryside flash by. Paris seemed to end rather abruptly and we were into rolling fields of green wheat and barley, with the occasional potato crop in evidence. Dotted all around were the picturesque villages that one sees in Impressionist paintings. The fields were intersected with the fabulous network of hedgerows that sustains so much of Europe’s remnant wildlife. The scenery was truly amazing, the only drawback being that the train travelled so fast that the glorious hamlets and churches whizzed by too quickly.

After a three hour trip, we pulled into Gare Saint Jean in Bordeaux and soon found ourselves outside and facing a walk of 1.8km to our lodgings. I had quite a fight with Google Maps, it maintaining that we were on the other side of a huge rail complex and providing a route to our hotel that didn’t make any sense. Each time I tried to get a direction fix, the GPS would reset. After much swearing and a minor domestic, I figured that the fact that I was standing under some electric tramway lines was a problem and moved away. The iPhone began to behave normally and we were off.

We navigated through one lane cobbled roads taking in the rows of terraced houses that opened right onto the footpath. These lacked the grandeur of the endless apartments in Paris, mostly being two storeys and some even a single storey. Although obviously very old, most buildings were in excellent condition.

Rather than a hotel, we had booked a serviced apartment a little out of the main centre, but still within walking distance. One of a chain called Les Estudines, they provide full kitchenette facilities, beds that fold into sofas, dining table and chairs, laundromat and good secure parking. After a few weeks of cramped hotel rooms, this proved luxury and at 51€ (A$64) a night was good value. A supermarket 100m down the street provided the makings for a meal and a good range of Bordeaux wines for less than 5€ a bottle. I can’t imagine how good the expensive ones are because the cheap wines are excellent.

20 March Bordeaux

We set off to walk into the centre of Bordeaux. There is a system of trams and buses, but we elected to walk and get the hang of the public transport later. The walk was easy, following a straight road until it terminated in a glorious square called Place de la Victoire, after the battle of the Somme. A magnificent arch, part of something built in the 17th Century, dominates the square. Leading away is Rue St Catherine, a pedestrian only mall some 1.2km long, making it the longest shopping precinct in Europe. It is mostly clothes and cosmetics, but a few sporting shops attracted our attention. So did the prices, being a lot cheaper than Paris and much cheaper than Perth for quality brand names.

Place de la Victoire

The shopping strip terminated in turn at the Place de la Comedie, dominated by the Grand Theatre. All the nearby streets are pedestrian only, although rogue scooters and motorbikes seem to be a bit of a problem. It seems like most of Bordeaux is employed in the catering industry, with any spare spot instantly turned into an alfresco café. Prices seem to vary from a lot to impossible, yet still cheaper than Paris. The other thing of note was the number of homeless who had set up camp in the pedestrian mall. Most had one to three dogs to keep them company, although one had three cats, all on leashes. The population is a lot less multicultural than Paris, where people of Caribbean or African background seemed to dominate. The locals are obviously attuned to the importance of tourism and every time we stopped to try to work out a sign or a procedure, someone would stop to translate or point us in the right direction. Try that in Perth.

Grand Theatre, Place de Comedie

We sought out the Tourist Bureau to see what was on offer. A very helpful assistant explained the various options for wine tours, the main attraction around Bordeaux. We chose a half day tour focusing on dry whites. Each of the districts or appellations concentrates on one style of wine, so even though Bordeaux is noted for its reds, the area also produces outstanding whites, roses and sparkling wines. The famed Chateau Lafite Rothschild, the World’s most expensive red wine, comes from the Medoc, an appellation to the North West of Bordeaux. All around the Place de la Comedie and along the river front, hundreds of marquees were being erected in preparation for the forthcoming Fete de Vin, a wine festival that will see the city overflowing. It’s probably good for our livers that we will have gone by then.

We got on board a small train to take a tour of the sights in and around the old city. At 7.50€ each, it seemed like a good way to get an overview of the place. It turned out to be a good way to end up with major spinal damage. The streets are mostly cobbled and contain many drains, ditches and other bumps. The train carriages appeared to have absolutely no suspension and we felt every bump right from the coccyx right through to the skull. It was so bad it was laughable in places. I tried to film parts of the trip but it proved very difficult.

We had headphones that provided an English commentary and we learnt a lot. We stopped alongside some magnificent churches, arches, medieval towers, some Roman ruins and famous houses of note. As always in France, we were shown the square where the guillotine was set up during the Revolution. As an exercise in getting to know Bordeaux, it was excellent. As a fun experience it fell way short. Later, we saw an open top tour bus wandering around doing the same thing and the people looked comfortable and relaxed, although I did doubt that the large bus could access all the tiny streets that our little train went down.

Lunch consisted of a wonderful hamburger-like creation from a street stall. We opted for mustard rather than ketchup and the lady filled the bun with enough mustard to defeat an army. It was delicious but set our nostrils afire. As we let lunch settle with a peaceful stroll around the wonderful botanic gardens in the Jardin Public, thoughts of a toilet stop came up. We located a toilet in the heart of the gardens and I headed into the “Hommes” area. Having just unzipped and positioned myself, my space was invaded by a woman, her two little girls and a little boy. She motioned the boy over next to me and instructed one of the little girls to help her brother and she retreated. By this time, I had completely lost the urge to urinate, having been left alone in a public toilet with a small boy and a small girl. I zipped up and fled, totally traumatised for the rest of the time in the park.

We caught the tram along the river front to Gare Saint Jean. The trams are excellent, running across a broad network around the city. They are frequent enough to make hopping on and off quick and easy. Within the city squares, they seem to draw power from a strip between the rails but once on actual streets, the more usual overhead lines are employed.

Many of the streets and squares are big open affairs, with loosely marked paths for pedestrians, bikes, cars and trams. In practice, the road rules seem to be rather grey and everyone has the good sense to drive slowly and look out for others. Once again, we could learn from this. As of next month, it becomes compulsory for all cars and motorbikes to carry breathalysers. In a country where every café, bistro, grocer and supermarket sells alcohol and most people seem to have a wine or two with lunch, such measures are necessary. It is also interesting to see that there is a 1500€ fine for having a radar detector in a car. This new law has lead to a lot of confusion about the legality of GPS systems that carry in-built information about the location of permanent speed radars.

We wandered around Gare Saint Jean trying to find a car hire place, despite this being listed as the main area to secure one. In the end, we gave up and walked home to resort to the Internet to make a booking for the weekend so we could explore some countryside.

Once again, we stayed in to cook, a delicious meal of Atlantic Salmon. We frequently buy Atlantic Salmon farmed in Tasmania back in Oz and really love its strong oily flavour. The fish here, almost certainly farmed in Norway or somewhere similar, was nice but lacked the full flavour that we are used to. Feeling obliged to support local industry, we also knocked off a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

21 June Bordeaux

Today we planned to explore Bordeaux further by bicycle. Here they have introduced the Velo system that is in place in Paris and also in the planning for Perth. The concept is that there is a series of bike stations dotted all over the city and its outskirts. Once signed up for an account, one can simply take a bike from one station to the next. The first 30 minutes are free then 1 or 2 Euros thereafter, although various levels of account are available. The bikes themselves are excellent, having a drive shaft rather than a chain and sprocket. This means no grease on trouser legs or chains coming off. It also results in super-smooth gear changes.

Unfortunately, the Velo station 100m down the road was empty of bikes, so we had to walk through to the next street and down 200m. As we approached we saw the last two bikes left but this was reduced as the woman in front of us got there first and claimed one. I tried to wrestle her to the ground and steal her bike but Christine restrained me just in time. We walked on, reaching the shopping area on foot. It’s a bit like trying to catch a train to Perth on a week day and driving to the station to find there is no parking left.

We walked down Rue de Saint Catherine and shopped, mostly in sports clothing shops. I bought a pair of shoes from a brand that has an interesting concept; they sell the shoe and the in-sole separately, each 11€. The concept is that you can have the one inner and many colours of outers. The shoes are light and comfortable so I thought I’d give them a try. We also bought a mini speaker to boost computer output which proves useful to listening to Perth radio over the Internet.

Eventually, we reached another Velo station, and being in the City centre, it was nearly full of bikes. We struggled with the log-in machine for a while, before a local came by and assisted. The down-side is that you need to pre-commit 200€ deposit against damage or loss. We used a debit card to then find that 400€ had been withdrawn from our account. I suspect the repayment of the deposit will not be as rapid as the withdrawl. We have found this to be a real problem with using a debit card rather than a credit card. Hotels and hire groups typically take a pre-commitment. On a credit card, the only affect this has is to reduce your credit limit until the pre-commitment is cancelled. On a debit card, the money is removed from your account, then repaid later, usually after 5 working days. Do this over a weekend, and you can be out of pocket by a significant amount for nearly a week. This could be an issue for those travelling on a budget.

Eventually we were on our way, riding on the “funny side of the road” as they do in France and sticking to the excellent bike paths where possible. Our ride took us along the quay, stopping to watch a game of boule, to a Velo station where we could deposit our bikes and walk to the nearby medieval Basillica of Saint Michel.

Basilica of Saint Michel

This wonderful old church dates back in parts to the 12th Century and the fabulous bell tower to the 15th Century. The tower stands at 114m tall, and we were able to climb up to around 90m, using a narrow stone spiral staircase. Christine only made it to the first platform at 25m, claustrophobia taking its toll by then. I pushed on, pausing a few times to let the legs recover, until I reached the bells themselves and later the top viewing platform, with only the actual spire above me. The view of Bordeaux was fantastic. Going down was easier than climbing but I had to fight dizziness, because the spiral was so tight the head started spinning. A trip up and down after a glass or two of a good Bordeaux is not recommended.

Inside the church itself, the magnificent stained glass windows dominate. I was amazed at their colour and clarity, not to mention their style, which was more reminiscent of Pablo Picasso than the Renaissance. This later proved to be the case when we read that all the original windows were destroyed in 1940 during a bombardment.

After a quick bite of lunch at a street-side kebab stall, we looked for another Velo to ride home with. This proved to be difficult, as we wandered from station to station to find them empty. The system fails if there is not an even distribution of bicycles at the stations. Even more annoying would be to reach a station and find all parking units full. Just leaving the bike without parking it would result in a very expensive loss of deposit. Our search took us through an area dominated by Turkish and North African businesses, many with strange music wafting from dark interiors. Eventually, we located a station full of bikes only 50m from where we had lunch, after walking a couple of kilometres in a big loop. We would have been better to just walk home or jump on a tram.

Having not heard anything from our on-line car hire company, Christine took our information down to the front office of our apartments to get some help with the language. When we approach, the girls look at each other, trying to figure out whose turn it is to struggle with English. In truth, they are much better than the think they are and we have been very grateful for the wonderful friendliness and help offered. They managed to sort things out, and we are now assured that there is a car waiting for us at the train station on Saturday. All good.

We watched a few movies to stay up a bit later. Without any English TV, we have tended to go to bed a bit early. To do that, we have to close the blinds up, because the daylight is so long. Today is the Summer Solstice so at least the days will start to get shorter from now on. They need to because having daylight at 10pm is starting to get very wearing.

June 22 Bordeaux

This was wine tour day, so we picked up a velo bicycle and pedalled into the Tourist Bureau. Being more of a peak hour on the roads, the ride was not quite as relaxed as previously but still very manageable, especially as we cruised the last part down the pedestrian mall of Rue St Catherine.

Our guide turned out to be a young woman called Anne, who had spent time working in Saigon so we had a few things in common. Her English was excellent and we picked up lots of tips about driving on the roads and motorway.

Anne took us into the Graves Appellation. The French have a system of very strict controls over their wine growing, protecting both quality and marketing. Bordeaux is an appellation itself and then is divided into a series of smaller appellations, each with a distinct set of rules governing variety and blending. Wines are not marketed by advertising their variety as we do, but rather by their appellation. If you know your wine, knowing the appellation will tell you a lot about the style of wine and quality you are buying. Nowhere did we see a cask of Coolabah Dry Red mentioned.

The first stop was the glorious Chateau Olivier, complete with a fortress dating back to the 12th Century. There we were met by Juliet, a Ukrainian girl working at the Chateau, who gave us a guided tour. We laughed when she pointed out the “new” part of the chateau, which was added in the 18th Century. Surrounded by a moat and complete with drawbridge, the fortress looked like something out of a fairytale.

Chateau Olivier

Some 120 hectares of forest surrounded the Chateau. Apparently, it was once a favourite hunting haunt of The Black Prince (Edward, Prince of Wales 1330-76), and even today still contains plenty of deer and wild boar.

We were led through the wine making process and given a detailed explanation of the differing soil types of the property. The appellation of Graves gets its name and characteristics from the extensive gravel soils deposited by the Garrone River. The soil was full of small river washed stones, giving superb drainage and retaining heat, leading to excellent maturation of the fruit. Of course, we knew all this and nodded wisely, making lots of appropriate noises but really just wanting to knock back a glass of good red. To be fair, both Anne and Juliet could tell we were both wine plebs and did a great job of guiding our tasting and ensuring that we did not make complete fools of ourselves. Both the red and white wine we were given to taste was incredibly good. The guides, being at work, both tasted and spat their wine into a large container. We, of course, swallowed ours with gusto.

French oak wine barrels

Our second stop was at Chateau La Tour Martillac, also in the the Graves Appellation. The Chateau sported a small tower from the 12th Century, although its chances of providing a reasonable defence seemed limited. I did remark that it was so small that Rupunzel would have little trouble letting her hair down. This time, our guide was a man named Pierre, who proved every bit as informative and educational as Juliet. His lip did curl a little at any slight mention of Australian wines but otherwise we had a ball. Just listening to a Frenchman speak English is a sheer entertainment in itself.

I help Pierre with the vintage

The French wine classification system identifies some selected vinyards as “Grand Crus”. Vinyards sell their very best wines as “First Wines”. Which bear the title “Chateau…”. They then produce lesser wines called “Second Wine” which can still be of excellent quality. We were given a Second Red and a First White to taste, both of which were absolutely amazing quality, particularly the white, which I honestly thought was the finest wine I’d ever come even close to. I would have been happy just to spend time with my nose in the glass, absorbing the incredible aromas. Christine just drank hers and said it was good. It was even worse than that, because as soon as the wine was poured, she had a sip!

Pierre then said “We will now talk about the nose, which you should do before you drink, although I notice you have already tasted it.”

At least she did feel like a pleb. Anne produced a lovely platter of hors d’oeuvres but it was actually difficult to detract from the wine with other tastes.

Once back in Bordeaux, we found a lunch along the mall and wandered home, content to have a nap and another night in. The beauty of the apartment rather than a hotel room is the level of comfort. We both grow very tired of having to sit on a bed or having a room with only one chair and a small table.

23 June Bordeaux

Today we had ear-marked to explore some of the out-lying regions of Bordeaux with a hire car. Step one, was to actually find the hire car place, which had eluded us in the past. It was supposed to be at Gare St Jean, but we hadn’t ever seen it. Our mistake was that it was on the other side of the rail tracks to everything else, and we had soon signed our lives away and gotten the key. All this meant was that we wandered around the car park for ages failing to find a matching number plate. Finally, we headed back to the girl at the desk, who explained that it was several blocks away in another car park, a point she had not addressed earlier.

Our VW Polo, complete with steering wheel on the wrong side.

Our car was a nifty four door diesel powered Volkswagon Polo, a wonderful car with only one bad feature; it was left hand drive. Driving around the tiny narrow streets of Bordeaux on the wrong side of the road is quite terrifying. We had two major roundabouts to negotiate in the first 500m. It was only a short drive back to the apartment, but the parking is off a tiny one-way street so we had to carefully plan a circuitous route to approach the gates from the right direction. We made the car-park and thought seriously about leaving the car there for the whole day.

Fortunately, we had booked a GPS with the car so we logged in to set a route to Arcachon, a seaside location renown for its oysters. We pictured a quaint little stone village nestled in a tiny fishing quay, complete with crying gulls and lobster boats. We weren’t even close.

The drive proved very difficult at first, the GPS telling us to turn then telling us we’d done the wrong thing. Our first target was to get out of Bordeaux proper and onto the A630 ring road. We managed to get to this point without a domestic, due mainly to Christine’s amazing navigational skills. I just did what I was told and it mostly worked. We turned right, left, went through countless roundabouts and eventually knew when we’d hit the A630 because we drove straight into a good old fashioned freeway traffic jam. It seems that the traffic on the motorways is bad on weekends, especially in Summer, when people take the chance to get out into the country. A large part of Bordeaux’s population had the same idea as us; go to Arcachon. After numerous traffic snarls and some stretches of 130km/hr, we finally reached our quaint little village, which actually proved to be the size of Bunbury, although certainly prettier.

Many of the streets are so narrow that once the parking fills up on one side, there is barely room for two small cars to pass each other. When someone parks a car badly, there is no room left so it is an exercise of squeezing around each other. Parking was as hard to find in Arcachon as in Bordeaux, but we managed a spot and set off to explore on foot. After wandering around the small port area, we settled on a small restaurant. The staff spoke absolutely zero English but we managed to get by, handling all his menu choices because a) he spoke slowly; and b) because we had looked up lots of words on Google Translate. Of course, we both ordered an entrée of oysters (L’huite) because that’s why we’d come. Christine followed with a Confit of Duck and I had a Grilled Hake with Béarnaise sauce, then Crème Caramel and a Rasberry Gateaux to finish. Good French cooking is sooo good and washed down with a nice Rose it’s even better. At just over 40€, it was great value. Just as Bordeaux is cheaper than Paris, so Arcachon is cheaper than Bordeaux.

We relocated the car to further down near the centre of the City, managing to find a parking spot that tested not only my reverse parking skills but also the built-in parking sensors. We followed a pedestrian mall down to the beach, past literally thousands of alfresco dining opportunities. Food seems to be the reason for Arcachon’s existence. The beach was lovely, with a broad expanse of white sand and calm water, although quite tidal and rather brown. Arcachon sits at the bottom of la Basin d’Arcachon, an inlet a bit larger than Peel Inlet. The beach was well populated and a few were swimming. We went down to at least dip or toe in the Atlantic Ocean and found it to be far too cold to even think of swimming. Maybe in the Mediterranean.

On the jetty at Arcachon

We waited an absolute eternity at another of these self-cleaning public toilets. They are a real curse, because they take so long to be ready for the next user. We stood in line and waited for the man in front to emerge. He took so long we knew he was doing something serious and the thought of following into such a confined space almost put us off. When he finally did appear, we had to wait another age while the auto-cleaning process took over. Unfortunately, this did not include deodorising.

The GPS gave us a bit of worry getting out of Arcachon and back to the A63. We finally made it, following the A63 to link up with the main motorway of the A630. By this time, the traffic was moving better but this actually proved more of a challenge. I tended to sit in the slow lane, preferring a steady 110km/hr to the 130 of the fast lane. The problem is that trucks are often only allowed 80km/hr and when you get stuck behind one, changing lanes to get around it into traffic that is often doing more than 130km/hr can be a real challenge. At one point, I found a gap, with the next car only a tiny dot in the distance. I swung the Polo out and floored it, asking a lot from the tiny 1.6L diesel. Almost immediately, I had a large angry black Merc bearing down flashing its lights. Goodness knows what speed it was doing. I retreated back behind the truck, beaten and cowered.

We navigated our way back around Bordeaux to the village of Blanquefort, in the wine growing area of Medoc. The country opened up a little and the endless rows of pine plantations around Arachon gave over to lovely rolling hills of vines. The village was a delightful blend of the old and new and would be a place I could see myself living. This was reinforced when we went into a small supermarket to pick up some supplies for dinner and everyone seemed to know one another.

Just out of Blanquefort there is a wonderful park called Parc de Marjolan. It was created out of swamp land between 1870 and 1880, now having magnificent stretches of lakes, flowing streams, waterfalls and even a manmade system of caves and canyons. The wonderful stands of elm and oak are a delight to walk through and the place proved popular with wedding parties. We enjoyed a tranquil hour wandering through these incredible gardens.

 

Heading for home, we set the GPS to take the fastest route, hoping this would take us around the ring road and avoid the middle of Bordeaux. Alas, the GPS did not agree and we spent a terrifying half hour negotiating a route right through the guts of old Bordeaux, across cobbled roads and down narrow winding streets. We didn’t even know enough to alter the route and by the time we started to recognise places we had explored on bike or foot, we were nearly home anyway. We nearly kissed the floor of the apartment. Despite our traumas, we’d had another wonderful day and proved that we could handle the worst of the weekend traffic.

In the late evening, a fascinating sight in the skies over Bordeaux is the criss-cross of jet vapour trails. It seems that many flight paths pass overhead. At first, it looks as though they are all on parallel courses, but then it becomes clear that most have come in on slightly different places and are headed for differing destinations. Sometimes it looks as though the planes are almost flying alongside each other, but logic says they are probably several kilometres apart. I would guess that flights from Marseilles, Venice, Rome, Athens etc and headed to the US or Caribbean would all pass somewhere overhead. The best count we had was 7 at once. During the day, the skies are often slashed with decaying vapour trails. It will form a part of our lasting memories of this wonderful place.

24 June Bordeaux

We really only had three main tasks today; return the car; pack and clean up; and fly to Barcelona. Sounds simple? It should have been until things started to go wrong.

We set off to return the car with plenty of time before the 10:30 return time. What we didn’t factor in was the hour and more we would spend driving around Bordeaux trying to find a fuel station to fill up. The problem was that the only ones we found were unattended and would only take a credit card. However, they would not accept international cards so we had to push on, seeking a cash outlet. A local girl told us where to find one, but the station we were in did not allow turning the correct way so we had to go the other way, accidentally getting onto the motorway, and finally exiting in a part of town we did not know. The GPS got us back into familiar territory but by this time it was 10:30 so we just returned it anyway. Once at the car park, we drove around for ages trying to find a way up to Level 2 and our parking space. It was a huge exercise in frustration. Finally parked and back at the desk, the girl informed us that they would charge a 9€ refill fee and they charged 2.08€/L, a good 40c over the normal price. We figured we’d only used about 10L, having done around 120km. She did suggest we drive off and fill it ourselves but there was no way I was getting back in that car.

Before walking back to the apartment, we checked out the Airport Shuttle Bus, which also leaves from Gare St Jean. The timing was such that we would only have about an hour to pack by the time we got back so we were fairly flat out tidying up and packing before setting off on the walk back to the station. The airport bus took around 45 minutes but at only 7€ each (actually we only got charged 6€ because the driver automatically gave us seniors’ discount) it was a big saving over a taxi.

Once at the airport, we wandered up and down levels, walked long corridors and waited in lines, all the time trying to find where to check in for Vueling Airlines. Eventually, we were sent out of the beautiful luxurious terminal and forced to walk down to the big tin shed alongside to wait with the Easyjet and RyanAir passengers. We felt like third class citizens but we were probably less than that. Gone were the rows upon rows of eating establishments in the terminal. We had access to an outside kiosk and standing tables. Still, the airfare was only about 60€ so we can’t complain too much.

We leave Bordeaux with much regret. It is the type of place that has very seductive lifestyle. The people are extremely friendly and very proud of their city. I’m sure we’ll find many more such places but this one will remain with us.

Paris 2012

June 21, 2012 /

15 June Somewhere over the Black Sea

It’s 9:05 am Perth time and we’ve both slept well. The trouble is it’s actually 3:05am in Paris and we have another 3 hours of flight left. In between sleeping, we have watched a couple of movies each and consumed far too many calories.

By a quirk of fate, we are flying Business Class on Malaysia Airlines. Originally, we booked some Premium seats on Air Asia, lovely lie down comfy seating, but otherwise lacking in too many frills. Air Asia pulled out of the KL to Paris leg and accommodated us by giving us Business Class on MAS. The trouble is, we will be unable to sustain this standard of luxury in the future and this trip is going to spoil us.

The two hours waiting for boarding was spent in the comfort of the lounge, where at least we didn’t go overboard on food, but certainly did graze on the chicken vol au vents, pasta, cheeses, sweets etc, not to mention a glass or so of red wine and even one of champagne. We felt quite content when boarding the plane for a 11:35pm take off. Once leveled out, they started plying us with more food; chicken and beef satay sticks, salmon with mango salsa, a choice of four mains, a selection of breads and a fruit platter. A selection of excellent wines was offered as well. We felt really put out that we had to refuse much of what was on offer. Still, there is breakfast to come later.

The comfort level is quite superb and the attention of the cabin staff is absolutely amazing. Every time anything of significance is about to happen, the hot scalding towels come out. We juggle them to drop the temperature by a few degrees then revel in their cleansing warmth. I know this description is over the top but when you have been in the same clothes for a fair while such luxuries become important.

Breakfast came with two hours of flight left. I really cannot comprehend that I have been 11 hours on a plane and regret the fact that we have only two hours left. This is a wonderful way to live, let alone fly. I also marvel at the fact that the lightest most tasty omelet I have ever encountered actually came from airline food. It was so good, I worry that it is chemically infused with something that will give me bowel/stomach/pancreatic/liver cancer…. but then so does everything.

15 June Paris

For a YouTube video of our time in Paris click here.

Another good thing about Business Class travel is that your luggage is first off the plane. This was good in that we had our bags before the real crowd arrived at the carousel; bad in that we were still missing our two luggage trolleys. We waited patiently until the crowd thinned and departed with their prizes in tow, growing all the more anxious about our beloved luggage trolleys. Eventually, they were discovered sitting on a special luggage cart all of their own, hidden behind the main carousel. With the weather outside sitting at 14 degrees and raining, we had to locate some different clothes and umbrellas in our luggage and rearrange things a bit.

Luggage organized and wheeled-up, we set off to find the Metro station to begin the tricky journey into Paris and our hotel. Since we landed and emerged in Terminal 1, we had to catch a shuttle train to Terminal 2 to pick up the REM. Christine found a helpful ticket attendant and we purchased our Metro tickets and a set of instructions for the three changes of train needed to take us to the Opera District and Rue de La Fayette.

We followed the escalators down to platform 24 as directed and as we neared the bottom, a train pulled in. “This is it!” I exclaimed and lurched forward, swinging my heavy bag and trolley aboard.

A loud bang sounded behind me and a muffled “Shit!” was heard from outside. Christine’s bag lay on the carriage floor but she was on the outside with the doors firmly snapped shut. “I’ll get the next train!” she called as I pulled away, never to see her again. This was a defining moment. I had a phone that worked in Paris (which she didn’t) but I had a wallet full of Malaysian Ringgits and no Euros. She had plenty of Euros but no phone. I had a map of the Metro system whereas she only had a conversation with the attendant and a terrible memory for names and places.

I got out at the next station and waited. To kill the 8 minutes before the next rain, I took a few snaps. I was immediately approached by a Frenchman who wanted help with catching a train to Gare du Nord. My first startled reaction was a “Sorry?” in English, to which he rolled his eyes and sauntered away. Suddenly aware that I could actually help, I used my bad high school French to call him back and show him a map and indicate the correct platform. I might have lost my wife for good but at least I could help the locals.

The next train pulled in and rattled past my position at the head of the platform. I gave it a few moments then went to board but heard Christine yelling from the far end. We went into slow motion, dropped everything and re-united in passionate embrace on a lonely station platform somewhere in Paris. Actually, we walked up and said something like “Shit! That was scary.” and got over it.

The next three train changes were a blur of crushing crowds and lugging the bags up huge stairs. We managed all without a hitch, finally emerging at Poisonierre Station only 100metres or so from our lodgings, the Comfort Hotel La Fayette. The lady on the front desk was very helpful and promised to get our room ready early seeing as we’d come from KL that morning. It would be available by 11am, giving us a couple of hours to kill, so we left our bags and wandered the Opera District.

The endless lines of old apartment buildings left us almost speechless. They are a testament to both the wonderful skills of the original builders and the renovation skills of the modern owners that they can be made so useable by today’s standards yet retain so much character of a bygone era. On our travels, we found a mobile phone shop and negotiated the purchase of a Pre-paid SIM that would give us phone calls back to Australia and some local data while in France. The shame is that we will need a new SIM in each European country. Still, a 10Euro payment gave us enough for a week in France and it meant we had Google maps available at all times on the streets. At one stage, I asked the man if the chip would give coverage in Bordeaux.

He looked puzzled and asked, “Where?”

“Bordeaux”, I replied. Again he looked puzzled but then saw the light.

“Ah! Bordeaux! Yes it will work there.” he said with a look of amusement at my appalling pronunciation.

Later, Christine asked the hotel front desk girl where we could buy a train ticket to Bordeaux.

“Where?” asked the girl.

“Bordeaux” repeated Christine. The girl still looked very puzzled so Christine started to spell “B…O…R…D..”

“Ah!” exclaimed the girl, “Bordeaux”, allowing the faintest whisper of air to rasp across the top of her palate on the first syllable. She told us to go to Gare du Nord and we left feeling very inadequate.

The hotel room proved small but very clean and well laid out. Combined with the location and price (80Euros a night), it is a bargain. The afternoon was spent with a bit of Internet research on travel and accommodation for Bordeaux, our next stop after Paris. Then we lay down for a short nap…and woke up 4 hours later.

The extended twilight takes some getting used to, but we headed out at 9pm for a bite to eat, finding a wonderful place that specialised in organic Pizzas. The prices in Paris will certainly curtail our heavy food intake, although we eased things a bit by stocking up at a supermarket with enough essentials to enable us to lunch in the Hotel. Eating and drinking opportunities abound on every street, but the thought of spending 30 to 40 Euros a meal is too much after our time in Asia. Eating and drinking less won’t hurt us.

Saturday 16 June

Another wet day in Paris, even wetter than the previous one. We tucked into a hearty breakfast and caught up on news via the Internet before heading out into the hustle and bustle of the city. I read up on all the likely scams and pickpocket scenarios, most of which occur near the popular tourist sites and rail stations. Our first stop was to be the huge Gard du Nord to buy some train tickets to Bordeaux so it was well to be forewarned. Just as well too, because as we entered, a dark haired young woman with a shawl (saying gypsy is politically incorrect) approached with a piece of paper in hand asking if we spoke English. Even from a distance I could tell that the piece of paper contained a tear-jerking story of her mother lying dying of cancer in a hospital in a far off land. But the woman lacked the money to travel home for her Mum’s last moments. Christine affirmed that we spoke English but I grabbed her and said, “No we don’t”, before going on into the station.

L’Hotel de Ville

The Gard du Nord is a wonderful place to visit, even if one doesn’t want to catch a train. The architecture is nothing short of stunning, with a stone facade that defies imagination. Inside, the huge arching roof and wonderful old steel trusses make a perfect lofty environment for the ever present flocks of pigeons. Below sit the endless lengths of streamlined trains, all waiting to disappear to all corners of the globe, and somewhere, Monsieur Hercule Poirot is waiting to board a train full of intrigue and murder. Well, not quite… but the atmosphere is certainly there.

We wandered around, got in a few wrong queues, tried to read a guide to the TGV in French and somehow managed to find the right place to buy our tickets. We did approach one “help desk” and asked the very attractive young lady to explain the difference between 1st Class and 2nd Class besides being double the cost. She smiled beautifully, obviously keen to help, but looked to a co-worker for assistance with the language. After conferring, she turned and said in passable English, “First Class is better.” She had the good humour to laugh along with us.

Clutching our 2nd Class tickets (to Bordeaux) and 73€ each the poorer, we pushed on into the Metro to catch a local train one stop to the banks of the Seine. We emerged into rain, surrounded by people and buildings. Google Maps said we were within 120m of the river, but we couldn’t see it. With a choice of four compass points to choose, we chose all three wrong ones before finally reaching the river. In the confines of the narrow streets surrounded by five and six storey buildings, the GPS on the iPhone is very slow to react so it takes a bit of walking before you realise you’re going the wrong way. Once at the river bank, things worked better, with the GPS getting better access to the sky.

Pont Neuf

We used an App to follow a set walk, starting at the famous Pont Neuf or New Bridge. Commenced in 1578, it is no longer new. The steady rain made things difficult, juggling umbrella, camera, iPhone and watching out for pickpockets and scammers. Thankfully, all the sellers and scammers seemed put off by the rain because we were left along to do our thing.

We followed the river along, past La Conciergerie where Marie Antoinette set up shop waiting for her head to be removed, and on to La Sainte-Chapelle. The lines of people waiting to enter were too much and we pushed on, happy to see the outside of these famous places.

Notre Dame came into full view, smaller than I imagined, but still awe inspiring. It is beyond belief that people in the 12th Century could build such a structure. To stand in front of this place and know that you are in the same place as people such as Henry V and VI, Joan of Arc, numerous French Kings, Napoleon and Napoleon III. Once again, the crowds put us off going in. There were standing shoulder to shoulder for miles. We took a while to move around the outside of the cathedral, stopping to take photos and marvel at the ever changing architecture. Having taken 200 years to build, a variety of architects and styles were employed.

Notre Dame

On the Pont St Louis, we were amused by the sight of thousands of pad-locks, each bearing the inscribed name of a pair of lovers/spouses/friends and all securely attached to the railings of the bridge. There were key locks, tumble locks, bike locks and more, all without keys or combinations, bearing testimony to undying love. I wonder how many couples are still together.

Near Notre Dame, an emotional memorial to the millions of victims of concentration camps has been established, reminding visitors of a past Europe that must never return.

We pushed on through the drizzle happy that we weren’t part of the many organised tour groups we passed. We had more flexibility to dodge the main showers or seek shelter when needed. Our tour App took us into a wonderful food street where we purchased some very tasty beef rolls for lunch, gazed through the window of an amazing cheese shop (not the Monty Python kind) and peeked enviously into a rather exclusive chocolate shop. The rain eased long enough for us to eat our lunch overlooking the Seine and its river traffic.

We sauntered back along the Rue de Rivoli to find a Metro that would take us back home, entering one department store along the way but leaving with the thought that shopping is just shopping. The idea of coming to Paris and not being interested in shopping would horrify many (mostly women) but there you have it. From what we have seen, the shops are more of the same, only bigger, with prices to match.

As we exited Gard du Nord, a dark looking man approached asking if we spoke English. Another denial and we scurried on. This time he looked Nigerian. A brief afternoon nap once again turned into a heavy sleep and I awoke feeling totally exhausted. We had a few olives and bits of cheese with a glass of wine before heading out for dinner. However, I found it hard to be motivated, feeling too tired, so we skipped the meal and had an early night in.

 

17 June – Paris

Today was one of the best days touring we have every had, if not THE best. We set off about 10am, walking the length of Rue la Fayette to the Opera District and the famed Galleries la Fayette. These are huge department stores specialising in the big names of fashion. Fortunately, being a Sunday, all was closed and the area was very quiet, making for am easy and very enjoyable walk. The Opera houses are wonders of architecture, but then so is every building in Paris. I still can’t quite come to grips with the sheer wealth that produced all these buildings, mostly within a 200 year span.

As we neared the Metro station, we were continually approach by young dark haired women asking if we spoke English. Most were carrying clipboards. A Google search of “Gypsy with Clipboard” gives an entertaining account of the many scams one can encounter, usually outside Metro Stations.

After a couple of changes of trains, we emerged from the underground at Champ de Mars, Tour Eiffel, to join the other 95% of the population thronging around the Eiffel Tower. Just outside the Metro, there was one of those unisex self-cleaning street toilets with a line of people about 15 long. We used one of these down in in Rue de Rivoli yesterday and it took at least 3 minutes between uses. This would give a wait time of at least 45 minutes for the people in this line. Madness. However, the line to the toilet was nothing compared to the line to the Tower. Only one of the elevators on the Tower was operational, making a bad situation nearly impossible. The line to the stairs was better but still bad. We spoke to someone who had used the stairs to the Second Level. They had arrived at 8am and still waited an hour in line.

Going up the Eiffel Tower is a must do but we decided to retreat gracefully on this occasion and return later with a new strategy. There are options that will give you a quick entrance (around 60€) as part of a tour or we can come back for the night view.

We wandered the length of the Champs de Mars, the old military training ground, stopping regularly to take pictures and video the tower from all angles. It certainly is impressive, more impressive than beautiful in my opinion. When it was first built, it was so hated by Parisians that property values in the area dropped dramatically. Needless to say, the area is now one of the highest priced. The Champs de Mars was packed with Sunday picnics and joggers. It seemed like most of Paris had come out to revel in the glorious sunshine and 20 degree warmth. As we walked through the nearby streets, we found that all the sidewalk cafes were just as crowded and the smaller parks equally full. We sat for a while in a small park and watched the many groups of scouts and guides sitting circles and playing games.

The highlight of the day came at 2pm when we joined in a Segway Tour group, run by the Fat Tire Bike Tours. This was to be a three hour tour, after a half hour orientation and training session. The Segways themselves are rather easy to manage, even though they don’t have any throttle or brake. You accelerate forward by leaning forward and slow down or stop by leaning back. The handle is like a giant joy stick and steering is a simple left or right movement. The only slightly tricky bit is parking. To do this, one needs to find a kerb or wall to lean the Segway against, otherwise it will simply travel away without you. Parking then, means approaching a wall, dismounting backwards in a fluid continuous motion and easing the Segway forward until it sits against the wall. If you just get off with one foot resting on the ground, the Segway tries to turn around your legs, creating a comical scene. Christine managed to muck this up a few times, much to the amusement of those around. Our tour guide, Stephanie, was a young Canadian who spoke brilliant French and used her skills and training as a Kindergarten teacher to keep us all in line. She took a particular shine to Christine and picked on her at every opportunity.

Initially, the Segways themselves were the highlight. As we got used to them, they rapidly became just a means to an end, as we toured many of the wonderful landmarks of Paris. The Segways are a fast and convenient way of moving around, travelling from one landmark to the next along the fantastic network of cycle paths that Paris has built up. Segway riders are classed as pedestrians so we followed footpaths and cycle ways rather than roads. They are easy to maneuver in crowds. Although the speed has to drop away accordingly.

We visited the Ecole Militaire, the old Military School built by Louis XV and attended by Napoleon. Then it was on to Napoleon’s Tomb, the Invalides and along the glorious Esplanade des Invalides to the Pont Alexandre III. All the way, Stephanie was a mine of information, delivered in a very entertaining style.

We took a short break in the Place de la Concorde, scene of the guillotine setup during the dark days of the French Revolution. As with everywhere else, this huge square was filled with people, just out enjoying the sun. Everyone seemed very relaxed and jovial. Then it was off to the Louvre, the scale of which completely surprised me. Where many of the sights have actually been on a slightly smaller scale than I had imagined, the Louvre is so much bigger. I guess it is because no one photo could capture the scale of the building itself.

On the way back, we stopped once again in the Champs de Mars to gaze at the Eiffel Tower. Stephanie was full of some amazing facts and figures, including the staggering idea that the structure paid for itself in the first 6 months of operation. Beats the Perth Bell Tower.

It was with regret that we handed back our Segways. Not only had we had a huge amount of fun gliding sedately through the streets of Paris, we had had a terrific overview tour of many of the main sites. We had outlaid just over $A100 for the two of us but it was worth every cent. I can’t recommend this tour too highly if you every get to Paris.

Back in Rue la Fayette, the urge for a beer, even at Paris prices, proved too much, and we stopped in at a little bar and cafe near our hotel. The owner spoke only French, but he still insisted on introducing us to his wife and several other customers. We tried a bit of talk but nothing really worked that well. He let us taste the on-tap beers before making a choice (try that in Perth) and we enjoyed a couple of very tasty Belgian beers before parting with our 12€ and heading for our hotel. Later, we popped back out for a pizza.

 

Monday 18 June

Today was a museum day. The weather was cool again, overcast but not raining once the sun rose. We planned a series of three museum visits and set off reasonably early to walk the 2.5 km to the Louvre. We could have taken a Metro but we figured the walk would be pleasant. Later in the day, we would come to regret the decision, having walked well over 10km by the end of it.

The Louvre was crowded on arrival, but not unbearable so and the line to the entrance via the famous glass pyramid moved at a good pace. We bought a general entrance ticket for 10€ each and set off in the general direction of the Mona Lisa. No guidebook was needed to do this because all one has to do is follow the stream of people. We walked along halls and corridors, filled with wonderful statues and paintings. Our combined knowledge of the art world is less than our understanding of ice skating techniques but it’s not hard to appreciate the skill and abilities of all the Renaissance painters whose work we saw. We certainly seemed to know more than one woman, who passed by a 15th Century painting depicting a woman surrounded by servants and announced to her children, “Oh look! That’s the Mona Lisa!”

The Louvre

We gazed in wonder at the beautifully painted ceilings and wandered through the endless displays of priceless art works, all just hanging on the walls and protected from the public by nothing more than a thin barrier rope.

Many of the visitors seemed to be simple tourists like ourselves, while others were more serious students of art and stood with guide-book in hand making an intense study of one piece. Sometimes, a string of Japanese would come through the crowd like a runaway train, the engine being marked by a flag waving leader. They moved fast and with a purpose, but they seldom stopped to actually look.

Finally, we found Moaning Lisa. There she was, smiling “the smile” over a sea of camera waving worshippers. I contented myself with using the camera zoom and seeing the picture from a fair way off. We were both shocked at just how small it is. I had assumed it was at least a big painting but it is really quite small and insignificant in the surroundings it is in. I guess it has something special but we didn’t see it. Perhaps it contains secret codes to herald the end of the World.

We wandered through a few other galleries, enjoying the 18th & 19th Century French section, more for the wonderful insights into French life of the times than for the artistic achievements of the painters. Everything looked good to us. Once away from the Mona Lisa, the crowd had thinned to very comfortable levels and we were free to explore with ease. The sheers scale of the Louvre is such that it can accommodate many thousands of people at a time, without over taxing its resources.

From the Louvre, we walked down the Rue de Rivoli towards the Marais District. This is “Old Paris” bearing many remaining medieval buildings. After a stop for a baguette and salad lunch, we sought out a museum called Musee Carnavalet, which houses displays of furniture and costumes through the ages, with one room set up for each time period. It was another walk of 2.5km from the Louvre but it was interesting enough. We followed Google Maps into the narrow winding streets of the Marais and finally located the museum, to find that it only shut one day a week…Mondays. We retreated to a small nearby park to regroup and reassess, finding ourselves surrounded by beautiful buildings that were once home to Louis X111 and his friends back in the early 17th Century. The walls may have looked a little wobbly in places, but the basic structure was still sound and very much in use as apartments and shops.

So it was off to find a Metro station to cross town once again to Les Invalides, originally a military hospital built by Louis XIV but now a military museum and last resting place of Napoleon. Here we found the biggest collection of killing and maiming devices one could possibly imagine. There were whole storerooms filled with suits of armour, both for people and for horses. Rows of cannon adorned the courtyards and all manner of hand guns and rifles were in abundance. In the WW1 and WW2 displays, there was a lot of supporting film footage and some very graphic and sobering displays of life in the trenches. The displays don’t seek to glorify war, they simply seemed to display the history. It was a fascinating history, and the artistry of the medieval armourers was a real surprise. Some of the suits were every bit as spectacular as those depicted in romantic films of the times.

Napoleon’s tomb is housed in the spectacular Chapel Saint Jean. This amazing structure was built on orders of Louis XV, who did not want to go to church with his subjects. It is capped with a huge ornate dome, the inside of which is painted in the classical style. Apparently, on entering for the first time, Louis looked around and said, “The roof is too high. Lower it,” and left. The architect, knowing this to be impossible, built another false dome under the first, so from the inside it appears lower. Louis was satisfied but still only visited the church three times anyway.

Later, Napoleon was entombed there so at least the grandeur of the building finally served a fitting purpose.

Chapel Saint Jean

 

Chapel Saint Jean

With aching feet and a feeling of being “museumed out” we used the Metro to return to our hotel area and headed back to our local bar for a couple of beers. As we left, we found oursleves quite pickled, after only two beers each. Are we getting soft in our old age? Later, we saw the same beer, a Belgian Affligem and the alcohol content was 8.9%. No wonder! We picked up a few bits and pieces at a supermarket to make a meal in our room and collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

This was the last of Paris for a few weeks and we leave with the knowledge that there is a great deal left to see and do. Even a full week in Paris would only touch the surface but we have loved our first visit and look forward to a return. I wouldn’t want to live here; finding the closed in nature of the streets and buildings rather claustrophobic. The famed street dining and cafe atmosphere was very expensive and often of ordinary quality or lacking variety. What we did find good was service, always with a welcome greeting and smile. Regardless, Paris is an absolute MUST for any traveller and we found its reputation to be very well deserved.

 

© 2026 hinchy.org

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑