Day #190-195: When you have nowhere to be then be guided by your heart.

We had booked 3 nights in London as part of our airfare deal, before leaving Brisbane.  We had randomly picked some dates  thinking there would line up with our return from the Continent.  However plans had been adjusted along the way and now this accommodation seemed to be hanging in time.

Morag had applied for some house sits near London that fitted in with the 5 day gap in our plans, but remarkably(!) we were passed over, and so we headed for the Scottish Highlands again.  Well not quite, but Aberdeen at least.  When booking our Eurostar tickets we also booked a connecting train from London to Aberdeen thinking we would have few more days with the Scottish side of the family before the weather turned too cold.

But then it snowed in Aberdeen.

Luckily that first fall of snow didn’t last long and when we arrived it was unseasonable warm which we took full credit for saying we had bought our sunny Queensland dispositions with us.

So day #190 was a day of train travel with us leaving Paris early and arriving in Aberdeen quite late.

Jim and Marjory had a warm welcome and hot drink waiting for us.   Our trip to Aberdeen was brief.  As we told the locals, we were there for a good time but not for a long time, and they possibly breathed a sigh of relief to hear that as they thought they had seen the end of us after we stirred up their summer with our visit.  We were there long to enjoy more walks along the Prom, lots of laughter and chatter and to visit  Uncle Sandy on the morning of his 89th birthday.   One of the joys of this trip has been to spend time with family members that we have had so little contact with over the years because of the tyranny of distance.

Another joy of this trip has been to make new friends and also reconnect with others. Using the power of Facebook, Morag had made contact with Iain who she had worked with at the Children’s Hospital in Adelaide in 1986. Iain is Scottish and he and his Irish girlfriend Katie were married in Adelaide November 1986 and we were among the lucky people to share the day with them.

Ahh – the fashions of the 1980’s might have us shaking our heads now, but we were wonderful and let no one try and say otherwise.  That is Katie and Iain off-centre in the first photo, with Dean and I looking dapper at the right of the second.  Oh, to be so young again and still know what we know now.

After a trip around Australia, including a stopover with Morag’s parents  in North Queensland that they remember fondly, Katie and Iain returned to Scotland and worked in the Outer Hebrides and at some stage we lost contact as children and life became busier.

While in Aberdeen we picked up another hire car and day #193 saw us head for the north-east of Scotland to Stanraer in the south-west, to visit our long lost but now re-found friends.

Our drive to Stanraer was memorable as we seemed to strike all possible weather from sunshine to high winds, driving rain and even sleet.  The last few miles along the coast even saw waves breaking over the road.

But it all proved worth it when reached Katie and Iain’s. Iain is still the lovely quite gentle man we met 30 years ago and Katie’s generous spirit seems to have just grown over the years.  They are still as in love as they were and have 4 beautiful children, the youngest two who are teenagers and we were lucky enough to meet.  Katie and I bonded as Mothers of daughters who are off teaching English in far flung foreign countries, and we were both on a countdown of the days until our respective girls would be with us again.

Stanraer  lies on the shores of Loch Ryan, on the northern side of the isthmus joining the Rhins of Galloway to the mainland.  It is on the same latitude as Carlisle, so is south of many towns in England.   Ferries go from nearby Portpatrick to Belfast and Katie said when the crossing is calm she can be in Belfast shopping with her sisters quicker then she can drive to Glasgow.  Portpatrick is as close as you can be to Ireland but still be standing on Scottish soil so this area is a great spot for this lovely pair and their family.

Iain had to work the but Katie acted as our tour guide with the first stop being the local hospital to see Iain’s Radiology Department which he was involved in designing.  Katie and Iain both work at the hospital and are obviously valued members of the medical service and the community.

It was then on to the Mull of Galloway and Portpatrick before the weather forced us home for shelter.

Our visit to this area was much too short, but catching up with Katie and Iain after all these years made up for not having time to see more of the area.  Before leaving, we spent some time convincing them that a trip to Australia for a reunion with all their Aussie friends was in order. We hope in a couple of years we may be returning their hospitality.

Day #183-190: Paris

In the early hours of the 14th of November we were woken by Dean’s phone as messages came in from caring family and friends asking if we were in Paris and were we okay.  Once reassured that we were safe in Toulouse for away from the shocking  terrorists attacks, people then started asking if we were still going to Paris or suggesting we shouldn’t.  We decided to continued we our plan and assess the situation as it unfolded.  We were booked to return our lease car to Orly airport on the 17th, had an apartment booked in Paris for a week and were booked on the Eurostar to London on the 24th.  A week is a long time and we decided at worst we could hole up in our Paris apartment and like Hemingway and many others write and catch up on our blog.

To miss Paris would have been a tragedy.

“There is but one Paris and however hard living may be here, and if it became worse and harder even—the French air clears up the brain and does good—a world of good.”
― Vincent van Gogh

The final drive into Orly airport and return of the lease car went extremely smoothly, and we were grateful to the efficiency and consideration of the Peugeot lease staff.  The young man helped transfer our grande baggage from the car to their shuttle van, drove us to the Orly airport taxi stand, negotiated for a taxi to take us to our accommodation, and helped transfer the baggage to the taxi, all within about 10 minutes.  We will definitely arrange another lease car should we find ourselves in continental Europe again in the future.

The accommodation was a simple but modern one-bedroom flat in the 15th arrondissement of central Paris: nothing special, but with everything we needed and within easy walking distance of the Paris Metro.  The Eiffel Tower wasn’t far away, although not directly visible from out flat.

The taxi ride to our flat was uneventful which came somewhat as a relief as we arrived just 4 days after the Paris terrorist attacks.  It was an interesting time to be in Paris: the three days of official mourning were at and end, and the people of Paris, ordinary people like you and me, were starting to get on with their lives  We found Paris had been wounded but its heart was still strong and determined to recover and overcome any damage that had been afflicted on its people.

On day #184, we set sail with Morag as our guide and the Metro App on our smartphones.  After days of grey clouds and gloom Paris awoke to a bright sunny day as if it was a sign to come back to life.

The crowds had disappeared, as tourists fled Paris, there was an increased military and police presence on the streets and tight security was being enforced with bag and coat checks at all public buildings; but Paris had lost none of it’s charm and elegance.  In fact, ironically,  there was probably no safer time to be in Paris.

Those who have followed this blog will know that we like to take walking tours wherever possible, and Paris was to be no exception.  We took in two tours of the heart of Paris, the Ille de France,  and the left bank. We saw such sights as the Notre Dame …

… and the Sorbonne University.

Day #185 was a repeat, albeit with less idyllic weather as the grey skies and rain of autumn returned, and we took in Montmartre and the stunningly beautiful Sacré-Coeur with its amazing views.

The nearby Place du Tertre, normally thronging with tourists and artists urging them to have their portraits drawn (for a small fee), was largely empty.

On day #186, despite continuing poor weather, we took in the trendy Marais area, and the Place du Vosges, the oldest planned square in Paris, dating from 1605.  We were grateful to our guide on the day for being happy to run a truncated version of the tour in light of the poor weather and the low number of people.  Some of the history quickly tied in with the Château de Chenonceau in the Loire Valley that we had visited earlier in our trip.

All of us were happy when the tour ended early in a Parisian cafe for hot chocolate.  Morag was especially happy to find that this particular cafe also provided Spritz Aperols, possibly the only one in Paris (or maybe France) to do so!

On day #187, we took on a 2-day museum pass, and visited the Musée Rodin, and the Musée d’Orsay.

The Musée Rodin at the Hôtel Biron was Rodin’s workshop from 1908, which Rodin subsequently donated along with his collection of sculptures and paintings to France as a museum.  For once, our timing was immaculate, as the Musée had re-opened only the previous week after a €16 million renovation.  The collection includes the originals of his most famous works, The Thinker, The Kiss and The Gates of Hell.

Morag was also happy to find her favourite piece, The Cathedral,  at the Musée.

We spent a few enjoyable minutes musing whether the full-size bronze replica we have in storage might be the original until the internet proved that it is in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  Nevertheless, perhaps we might not be putting that piece in the garden of our next house after all.

In contrast, the Musée d’Orsay is an art gallery that was originally a railway station between it’s completion in 1900 and 1939.  The artworks it contains are stunning, but the building equally so.

On day #188, we continued at the Louvre, and the Musée d’Orangerie.

Everyone knows the Louvre, once the palace of Louis XIV, and one of the largest and oldest museums in the world.

You would also know the Louvre to be home to the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, both of which we saw.  The crowds were small and the artworks easily accessed.

This artwork Gabrielle d’Estrées et une de ses sœurs by an unknown artist also drew a crowd.

The Louvre is huge and impossible to do justice to in one visit.  It’s also a very easy museum to get lost in, with gallery after gallery and level after level, even with a map!

The Musée d’Orangerie is an impressionist art gallery, nearby to the Louvre, and most notably home to Claude Monet’s Nymphéas (water lilies) paintings.  This photo from the Wikipedia page gives a much better idea of the display space than anything I could capture.

The four panels are serenely beautiful.  I just wish the damn tourists would have stopped their incessant chattering for just one minute.

Day #189 was our last day in Paris and on the continent.  We ended with a Paris Highlights walking tour which took us from the Paris Opera to the Champs Elysees with our guide pointing out sights and relaying historical stories along the way.

All these walking tours were with Discover Walks, and we can really recommend them.  All our guides were young Parisian University graduates, and most had or were  undertaking post-graduate studies.  They were passionate and knowledgeable about their city and its long and interesting history.

We rounded off our time in Paris with a ride along the Seine in one of the Bateau Boats.  Like any city, built along a winding river, Paris reveals more of its beauty from the water.

Our week in Paris flew by and we have resolved to return as there is so much still for us to discover.  We were amazed to be thanked by tour guides and locals for being there at this point in time.  Being stopped in restaurants and asked where we are from and having our hands shaken in thanks by Parisians was humbling.  Through history Paris has overcome so much and Friday the 13th of November will not be forgotten but did nothing to restrain the people of this city.

As Bogart said to  Bergman:  “We’ll always have Paris”.

Day #180-183: Méreau

After our unsuccessful attempt to locate the Grotte de Lascaux on day #180, we were happy to finally reach our destination, Méreau, a small commune about two hours south of Paris.

Our hosts were Brigitte and Franck.  At 59, Franck had retired earlier this year due to ill health, while Brigitte, some years his junior, had decided to rent out their children’s bedrooms to travelers until she too is able to officially retire.

Brigitte had contacted Morag prior to our arrival to see whether we would be interested in sharing an evening meal with them for a small additional fee.  I was certainly grateful to Brigitte for offering and to Morag for accepting as it was getting dark when we finally arrived at Méreau and discovered it to be a small village with few options.

Brigitte had been kind enough to prepare a delicious home-cooked meal, with a vegetarian option,  dinner for the five of us: Brigitte, Franck, Dean, Morag and Google Translate.  Brigitte spoke a little English, and Dean a little French, so Google Translate was pressed into service on smartphones and tablets to support the dinner table conversation.  Despite the language barrier and Google Translate’s mistranslations, we discovered that we had much in common.  Brigitte translated something Franck said, which was that he grew up watching “Skippy”on television and that was all he had seen of Australia.  With much laughter we were suddenly all singing the Skippy theme song and we felt we were with old friends.  Also, we were amazed that they had recently completed the Santiago de Compostela on foot, from near their home to Barcelona, a distance of 1,100km. Like everyone who does this, it seems to have been an experience that has a lasting impression.  Doing a pilgrimage of that scale with only each other to depend on would certainly strengthen your relationship.

Day #181 saw us back-track to the Grotte de Lascaux, a round trip of around 600km.  Now many of you may think us crazy and Brigitte and Franck were certainly somewhat bemused that we would journey so far, but we figured that this is a world-class feature and that we might not have the opportunity to visit at another time.  The trip was uneventful, we knew where we were going this time.

We arrived around lunchtime at the village of Montignac, on a Sunday, to be told that the village’s one restaurant that was open had just stopped service at 1:15pm, 5 minutes before our arrival.   Once again, it would seem that the tourist season is over and everything closes come the start of November.  Fortunately, there was a pizza joint open, but this was not exactly the French cuisine that we might have expected.

The Grotte de Lascaux is a series of caves containing around 2,000 pre-historic paintings thought to be 17-18,000 years old.  The caves were discovered by four teenage boys in 1940, but had to be closed in 1963 due to the deterioration in the artworks due in part to the carbon dioxide from the breath of 1,200 visitors a day.  After years of painstaking work, the Grotte de Lascaux II, a faithful reproduction of the original caves, was opened to the public in 1983, and it was this reproduction that we had returned to see.

Make no mistake, the cave paintings are simply stunning, in their age, number, quality and artistry.  The images are mostly horses, cattle and bison, but also include cats, a bird, bear, rhinoceros and a human.  Most animals are shown in motion, and were painted in the cave over many years using brushes and pigments, lit by candles and oil lamps. That they have survived these thousands of years especially when a river flowed through the cave at some point in time is amazing as well as their complexity and detail.

The downside was that the 40 minute guided tour was entirely in French by a woman who we think may have been a stern teacher in a previous stage of life as her presentation was rapid fire and allowed no time to ask questions, even for the French speakers present.  Without an audio-guide, printed information or even information boards in any other language, and despite the attempts of a French-speaking fellow visitor to translate vital things for us , the end result was that we understood little of what the guide said, and were forced to buy a book in the obligatory tourist shop so that we could understand what we just saw.

Perhaps that was their cunning plan.

Recommendation: if you don’t speak French, have a good read-up before going, but do go.  If you go, allow time to also visit the other smaller caves in the area.

Day #182 was a day to get organised, including washing the lease car before returning it the next day.  Day #182 was also an unexpected bonus, as Franck and Brigitte invited us to tour nearby Bourges with them in Franck’s belovedly restored 1956 Peugeot 203.

This is Franck and Brigitte in front of the Peugeot 203 in front of the Cathédrale Saint-Étienne de Bourges, another stunning French Gothic monument, this one built around 1200.

Franck’s passion has and is the restoration of old cars, and his retirement now means that he has the time to devote to it.  If I understood correctly, he does all work himself: mechanical, panel, interiors.  Besides the restored Peugeot 203, he also has a 1950’s Citreon 2CV ute, a classic 1970’s Citreon ID 19, a Jaguar without an engine, and a very impressive man-cave.

We found Brigitte and Franck to be truly wonderful company that we had much in common with them.

Day #180: Lascaux (or not)

The days of our time in continental Europe were fast drawing to a close.  The final destination was to be a week in Paris.  To that end, our penultimate destination was Méreau: chosen not for its size (about 3,000 people) nor for its attractions (a couple of chateau), but simply because it was an easy 2-hour drive south of Orly.

Day #180 was intended to be a traveling day which would take us from Toulouse to Méreau, a distance of about 460km.  The drive would also take us near to Grotte de Lascaux, a series of caves world-famous for their paleolithic paintings.  We mentioned to several people that we hoped to see the paintings at Lascaux, and then all said yes, you must.  So we dialed “Lascaux” into Mademoiselle Jeanette (our GPS), and sallied forth down France’s efficient motorway network.

After a few hours, ending with 11km of windy one-lane roads, we arrived.

This is Lascaux.  Not very promising, and completely devoid of any signage pointing out what these world-famous caves might be.  Hmmm.

We retraced our steps in order to get reception on our phones, then used the internet to discover that Grotte de Lascaux is not located anywhere near the village of Lascaux, but rather near the village of Montignac.  Dóh!  Everyone knows that!

Sadly, a return trip to Montignac would have added two hours to our day that we did not have, so we were forced to skip the paintings and proceed directly to Méreau.

 Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.

Sigh.

 

Day #177-180: Toulouse

After Pouzols, our next stop was Toulouse.  I mean, what’s to lose?

Well, I’m glad you asked.  Toulouse is the capital of France’s southern Midi-Pyrénées region, and is home to the country’s aerospace industry.  With a population of around 1.25 million, it’s about the same size as Brisbane, our home town.

The drive from Pouzols to Toulouse took us through Carcassonne, a city famous for the UNESCO-listed Cité de Carcassonne, a medieval hill-top fortress restored in the 19th century.  Carcassonne also lends its name to a board game which we played with our children when they were younger, so we couldn’t pass by and not call in.  It’s big.

The Cité de Carcassonne is a truly impressive sight, with a double-wall totaling 3km in length and 52 towers.  With characteristic poor timing, we arrived on one of only 5 days when the centre of the cité (the château of the Counts of Carcassonne and the citadel ramparts) where closed.  Despite that, there was still much to see in the cité, which is still inhabited. 

Our accommodation in Toulouse was hosted by Nathalie and Herve who own a 17th century farmhouse just outside of the Toulouse ring-road.  They too are empty-nesters, contemplating future retirement and downsizing, so we were fortunate to hit the time-window when they are making their children’s bedrooms available to travelers.  Something went wrong around here because we failed to get a photo of either the house or our hosts, so you will just have to take our word that the amazing house and the host welcoming.  As we traveled towards Toulouse we drove into a thick fog which had settled over most of the south of France. Nathalie and Herve had spent the long weekend at heir holiday cabin in the mountains so were as surprised as us to have left beautiful sunshine for thick fog.

On day #178, we ventured into the town centre by impressive metro system.  It’s quite an interesting city with plenty to see, but the weather was against us, so we cut short our sight-seeing.

We had intended that day #179 would be a tour of Airbus facilities.  Sadly, we failed to realise that not being EU residents meant that we had to book 2 days in advance, presumedly for some sort of security check.  Of course, we weren’t that organised, so plan B – a visit of nearby Albi – was enacted, under the suggestion of our hosts.

Albi is a small historic town of about 50,000 people located about an hour’s drive from Toulouse.  We enjoyed an easy walk around the compact town, enjoying the sights, although again the weather was less than favourable.In the photo, you see Le Tarn river, crossed by the Pont-Vieux in the foreground (Old Bridge, built in 1035 and still in use) and the Pont du 22 Août 1944 in the background.

The town also incorporates the Basilique Cathédrale Sainte-Cécile d’Albi, a gothic masterpiece built between the 13th and 15th centuries noted for its austere, defensive exterior and sumptuous interior.  It is claimed to be the world’s biggest brick building – checkout the people in the photo for scale!

 Albi also includes the13th century Palais de la Berbie (the Bishops’ Palace), one of the oldest and best-preserved castles in France and now home to the Musée Toulouse-Lautrec, which houses around 1,000 works by the artist.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was born near Albi and they have claimed him as their much loved son.  Most shops have images of him and quotes attributed to him stenciled on the windows.

Despite Albi‘s charms, the highlight of the day was undoubtedly having lunch at the Restaurant Salon de Thé on the Place Saint-Cécile.

The meal itself wasn’t that much to write home about, as we arrived at the end of service and they had had a busy day and were sold out of almost everything.  We were grateful for what they did provide, as they were one of the very few places open in Albi in late November, well past the end of the tourist season.

When placing our order the young woman asked if we were Australian and was delighted to hear we were.  She then explained that she and her husband (co-owners of the cafe) had worked in Adelaide and their 12-year-old daughter was born there.  She was even more excited when we explained we had once lived in Adelaide and Gawler near the Barossa Valley and when we started mentioning favourite wineries it was like we had given her a gift.  She explained they had loved living in Australia, and had spent four happy years working in the wine industry, but had to return to France to be near family and because it was home.  Her husband  asked if he could take photos of us which he then emailed on.  It was an unexpected but wonderful experience for us all.

Sadly, that was the end of our time in Albi and Toulouse.  Both places are definitely marked down as places to return to, should our fortunes and the weather permit.

Noci, Cinghiale and Pecarino.

Despite having exchanged many emails with Jann, the owner of the Magli house, just a day before arriving we discovered there was a vital piece information we were missing:  the address and instructions on how to get into the house.  A frantic series of emails to Jann who was in transit to Australia ensured and we were very impressed with ourselves to have managed to get within 10km of our destination when Jann sent us the details we needed.  Upon arrival we were to call a local couple Ron and Ianthe who had been in earlier to turn on the heating and would let us in.  Our attempts to call Ianthe and Ron failed but we were saved by our next door neighbours, elderly Pasquelina and her daughter Maria Assunta.  They  invited us into their home and poured us glasses of their homemade Limoncello liqueur to sip while she called Eric.  Eric is a Dutch architect, but has relocated with his wife and family to Italy for the lifestyle.  Instead of practising architecture, he now works as a builder and site supervisor in the area.  As he has done work for Robert and Jann, he had access to a key and let us in after translating a conversation between Pasquelina, Maria Assunta and ourselves.  Later we had a visit from Ron and Ianthe who had run into Eric in town.  What could have seemed a disaster all turned out well.

When we had parked our car, Pasquelina in ever increasing volume and much gesture indicated we should close the gates to the property.  We understood “Senora Roberto” and her showing us how to close the gates but the explanation  also involved noci and cinghiale.  Neither of these words made any sense to us but Pasquelina was insistent and who were we to argue?

The next day Morag encountered Pasquelina collecting walnuts that had fallen from the roadside trees.  Noci, noci she explained so now we had half the puzzle solved.  Walking around Robert and Jann’s property revealed they had 3 walnut trees, one mature one and 2 smaller and there were many windfall walnuts on the ground.  Collecting these and drying them on the terrace became a ritual during our stay and on Robert and Jann’s arrival a couple of weeks later we were able to present them with several plastic shopping bags brimming with walnuts.

The first walnuts Morag collected she shared with Pasquelina who then took Morag on a tour of her garden and Morag came home with vegetables, grapes and herbs in abundance.  Much was said by Pasquelina during this garden tour but it was all lost on Morag.  Still the sharing of what we have is understood in all languages.

A Google search using possible variation of how you could spell cinghiale eventually revealed that they are wild boar that roam the forests of Italy and France and create havoc in vineyards and gardens.   Walnuts are a particular favourite of these beasts.  Cinghiale meat features on many menus, usually as a ragu sauce over pasta or in salamis.  Towards the end of our visit, the hunting season had started and men with guns over their shoulders would be wandering around the fields and hillsides accompanied by dogs, often English setters, and although we heard gunshots we never saw any evidence that their hunting efforts had been successful.  It seemed like a good excuse to get out with friends as much as anything.

See also: how to handle an encounter with a cinghiale.

Another local product was cheese made from the milk of sheep that grazed on the surrounding hills.  This cheese is called pecorino, but something was lost in translation when we went into a local cheese shop and when we would point to any cheese in the cabinet and ask what it was we would be told pecorino even though they all looked different.  What we needed to ask was what sort of pecorino it was; soft, mature, vintage.  No matter it was all very acceptable.

Day #174-177: Pouzols

Day #174 saw us voyage from our previous accommodation at Biot to our next at Pouzols, somewhat near Montpellier in the south-west of France.  Pouzols is a small commune with nothing particular to recommend it.  It has a boulangerie and a tabac, but nothing else.

Our plan was look for the lavender fields of Provence and to have lunch at Ventabren, a small hill-top town to the west of Aix-en-Provence, claimed by guide book to have fantastic views.  When we left Biot, the weather was clear and fine, but by the time we arrived in Ventabren, it was shrouded in very thick low cloud and there was nothing to be seen.  More to the point, we found a small French village on a Sunday afternoon: basically closed.  After searching, we found one restaurant that was open, but quoted a two hour wait for lunch.  As it was already after 1pm  we decided not to wait as we still had quite a way yet to travel, but then managed to land on what must be the only stretch of French motorway without a service centre.  We also tried a garden centre in Nîmes, which had an outstanding array of Christmas decorations, but no food.

In the end, we had lunch at around 3:45 in a bar at Nîmes, 15 minutes before closing, by which time all they could provide us was a couple of baguettes wrapped in aluminium foil.  I wish I had taken a photo to share, but we were so hungry that we weren’t thinking clearly.  I do recall that the baguettes were delicious, but then, by that time, just about anything would have been.

We walked off our indigestion from the hastily eaten baguettes and found Jardins de la Fontaine at the end of Avenue Jean Jaurès where we were parked.  Despite the weather, it was easy to appreciate the Roman ruins that had been given a make over in the 17th century with statues and garden fixtures re-purposed from a demolished chateau.

We arrived after dark to receive the keys of our self-catering house at Pouzols that was to be home for the next few days.  From the outside the house appeared to be little more than a stone garage but inside was a very modern recently renovated home.  The local boulangerie meant we were set for breakfast.  I love the smell of fresh baguette in the morning.

Day #175 was considerably more successful, with a visit to nearby Lerab Ling, the Tibetan Buddhist monastery founded by and home of Dean’s teacher, Sogyal Rinpoche.  Rinpoche was elsewhere on the day, and the temple was closed, but the weather was fine and it was good to visit the seat of the teachings that Dean has been studying for the last 10 years.

Day #176 was more a mainline tourism experience with a visit to Pont du Gard, part of a 50km Roman-era aqueduct that provided water to ancient Nîmes. The Pont du Gard is a bridge for the aqueduct over the Gardon River, and at 275m long and 48m high, is the highest and one of the best preserved.

For a change, we even managed to have lunch at lunchtime from the Pont du Gard visitor centre!

Since we were on a roll, we continued to Avignon to view the Pont d’Avignon, a famous 22-arch bridge over the Rhone originally built between 1177 and 1185.  The bridge has been repaired many many times over the years due to its tendency to collapse whenever the Rhone floods, eventually being abandoned in the 17th century.  Only four spans remain to the current day, but it is enough to help envision the magnificence that must have been the bridge in its entirety.

On day #177, we went to depart Pouzols for our next stop, but delayed our departure to attend the local Remembrance Day ceremony, which was conducted, of course, in French.  They mentioned the roles of other countries, touching including Australia and New Zealand, and read the names of each of 23 villagers who had given their lives in World War I and II.  “For France” was the refrain after each name.

The day is a national public holiday in France.  Despite its size, the solemnity of the ceremony was no less than anything in Australia, although we thought the mood somewhat shattered by the dance music that was played on completion.  C’est la guerre.

 

Day #171-174: Biot

After our experiences at Cinque Terre, we were pleased to finally arrive at our next accommodation at Biot.  The day’s drive from Verona through Cinque Terre to Biot covered around 600km, the toll roads of two countries, and about 206 tunnels.  We think it was 206, but there is a distinct possibility that we might have miscounted, and for some reason, neither of us was eager to repeat the journey to check the count.  We leave that as an exercise for the reader.

Initially our host Patricia seemed reluctant to take our booking, as she spoke no English.  However, we assured her that this would not be a problem (using Google Translate), and she accepted us into her gîte, a self contained holiday flat under her home which is set in typical Mediterranean countryside.  By the time we left a couple of days later, our small interactions with her meant that she was more than happy with us, and that maybe we have left a good impression for future Australians.  She even sent us off with a jar of honey from the hives in her garden and the offer of eggs from her chickens.

 

Biot is a small hilltop village between Nice and Cannes in southern France.  It seems to have a thriving craft industry including glass work, metal work and napery in the bright designs and colours typical of the area.

On day #172, after wandering the town, we enjoyed a coffee and then later lunch from one of the local restaurants served in the village square.

Later, we ventured the 26km down the road for a sunset stroll along the Boulevard de la Croisette, the road running along the waterfront at Cannes.  The boulevard is lined with large hotels and designer shops, and even though we were six months late (or 6 months early) for the film festival, we could easily imagine the buzz when all the stars are in town.

Day #173 saw us in Nice, which was nice.  While Nice also has a thriving modern seaside, it also has an old centre, a maze of twisty little passages, all different, that it is quite easy to spend a day in.

Some of these open up into squares where markets are held and restaurants populate with tables and chairs.  Despite the time of year, there was still quite a tourist population in Nice, but somehow, it didn’t feel like a tourist town: the markets were produce-centric, and largely without tourist tack.

Down at the beach, people were making the most of a warm sunny day, despite the apparent discomfort of lying on a pebbly beach and that the  beaches were closed for swimming for a reason we never worked out.

The sunny warm weather we experienced here really did make it feel like the holiday resort region of the rich and famous and we could see that it would be attractive as the temperatures were falling quickly further north.

 

 

Day #171: Cinque Terre

Well, that brings us to the end of our time in Italy.  Onwards to France!

We booked our next accommodation, then remembered we had intended to visit the Cinque Terre before we left Italy.  As we hadn’t left time to actually walk the path between the 5 villages, a quick internet search revealed that the fastest way to get around the Cinque Terre was by train.  We envisaged a jolly-good seaside train trip, as we had experienced in England and Wales.  Here’s Dean enjoying the trip.

Unfortunately, what the website didn’t explain, was that 99% of the train track along the Cinque Terre is inside tunnels.  A minor detail.  And the train, instead of a romantic period seaside train, was a dilapidated modern train with graffiti and slashed seats.

With limited time, we elected to travel the length of the Cinque Terre from La Spezia to Monterosso, where we disembarked to spend an hour or so.  Google Maps satellite photos of Monterosso show a resort town populated with a large number of beach umbrellas.  What we found was a near ghost town with only one bar and one gelati shop open, and not a solitary beach umbrella in sight.  It seems that once November 1 has arrived, the tourist season has officially ended, and the villages revert to a normal sleepy Italian lifestyle.

Further research has revealed that a more scenic means to visit the Cinque Terre is from the water using local ferries, and it is from the water that most of the stereotypical photos of the area are taken.

Note to prospective visitors: walk one direction between the villages, and catch the ferry the other way.  The villages are only about 2 hours walk between them, which is probably do-able by most people.

Day #166-171: In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.

Day #166 saw us depart our genial hosts at Firenze, and continue our journey along the motorways to our next and final destination in Italy: Verona.  Sadly, Morag contracted a mystery virus – one of those things were you run a temperature, your joints ache, and all you want to do is sleep.  As a consequence, we spent more days in Verona than planned, but did less, while Morag recovered.

Many will have heard of Verona, in Italy’s north-east.  It is certainly a lovely little town that we would recommend, although it cannot really compare to the grandeur of Roma or Firenze, but then, it doesn’t need to.  Verona‘s pace of life is slower that it’s famous sisters, as well as cheaper and more pleasant.  It is not without its drawcards.  Most of Verona is lies within a bend of the Adige River and many of these streets are limited to pedestrians or have limited traffic making it a lovely city to walk around.

Verona is perhaps most known as the setting of three of Shakepeare’s plays: Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Taming of the Shrew, and (most famously) Romeo and Juliet.  The residents get good mileage from this association, and it is possible to visit Juliet’s house, as well as her tomb.  The house opens off of a little courtyard, and features a balcony, cunningly installed in the 18th century for the benefit of tourists: the scene of many photos.

What light through yonder window breaks …

Perhaps even more stunning is the short passageway leading to this courtyard, where it would seem that every pair of young (and not so young) lovers for the last couple of centuries have inscribed their names on every reachable square centimeter as testament of their own undying love.  Or something like that.

The walls of the courtyard used to be a popular place to leave letters to Juliette wedged between the bricks and asking for advice on love.  Later it obviously became more popular to adhere them to the wall with adhesive and the  walls and even tree trunk  still bear testament to this.  Now you are encouraged to post your letters in a letterbox that is provided or to submit them online.

Now you may wonder at how we can visit the homes of these fictitious characters.  Well in Verona it is claimed that Shakespeare was inspired to write his play after hearing an epic poem based on a real story of star crossed lovers.

Verona also has a tower you can climb (when its open), and an art gallery to visit (when its open), a couple of churches, some obligatory Roman ruins, and its Arena.  Most of the roman ruins were destroyed in an earthquake in 1117 or built over at some point in history.

The Verona Arena is about 152m long, which makes it the forth largest in Italy after Rome (189m), Capua and Milan.  However, the Arena predates the Colosseum by about 70 years, is better preserved, and is still in use, being the venue for a summer opera season since 1913.  Check out the official website for some stunning pictures of the Arena in action.  We think that if  you want to see well-preserved Roman ruins, you should go to Turkey as there they were not demolished for building materials during the Gothic and Renaissance periods, but if you can’t get to Turkey, the Verona Arena is pretty good.

Verona also has its own Ponte Vecchio (literally, the Old Bridge) and associated CastelVecchio (Old Castle), …

… a Roman gate, …

… and some lovely squares and alleyways where you can just wander at leisure.

Despite enjoying our time in Verona (well, ok, Morag less so), the main purpose for visiting was a coward’s way of getting to Venice.  Everyone goes to Venice, and since we were in Italy, that would include us.  Venice was a comfortable one-hour train trip away from Verona, thereby avoiding any car navigation or parking dramas in a city that doesn’t have any streets.

At the train terminus (Venezia Santa Lucia), you simple walk out the end of the station and onto one of the vaporettos (public ferries) plying the grand canal.

One thing we have learnt on this trip is that we each have our own journey and places others have loved and things they have done are interesting but aren’t necessarily going to work for us.  So it is with some regret to our friends who love Venice that we have to admit it just didn’t amaze us.

No doubting, Venice is beautiful but we felt it had been loved to breaking point by centuries upon centuries of tourists.  Certainly being hit €9 for a cup of coffee in Piazza di San Marco didn’t help, and each street seemed to have much the same glass and other tourist shops as the last.

A gondola ride didn’t live up to the romantic image we had in our heads.  Even the gondoliers looked bored at this end of the tourist season.

(Besides, isn’t romantic about Romans, not Venetians?  Conjugate the verb …)

Basilica di San Marco did impress with it majestic square and beautiful mosaics.

On the other hand, the Bridge of Sighs was obscured by a huge billboard advertising Diesel clothing (not very Italian).

It  also didn’t help that it was a a gray damp day, but we couldn’t help but think “Now if the Dutch had been here they would have built dykes and drained the placed and they wouldn’t have the problems Venice has with flooding now!”

We were being way too cynical to be carried away with the romance of the place.