I awoke suddenly and realised it was the church bells ringing me awake. The alarm on the mobile didn’t go off for another hour. Then it was up, and although I had heard rain when I woke, I didn’t hear it while getting ready for breakfast.
Where I am staying has a number of guest rooms and also does evening meals. Therefore it is nowhere near as informal as the other places I have stayed at. I got a normal-sized cup and slices of baguette for my tost with vegemite. I also had small shortcake-like material, the closest to biscuits I’ve seen while away. I dunked them, but they weren’t too absorbent.
Back in my room I sorted out my dirty washing because, if experiences were as before, a lot of what I want to see doesn’t open until nearly 10, while the laundrette had opened at 7. I went down to town (Lourdes) and prepared to air my dirty linen in public (except it was all cotton, not linen). I got a parking place near and went over. There were two ladies who seem to run it from their place behind, and they do quilts and other large items. They will also do and press laundry. With a little assistance I got the washing going (it took thirty minutes) and walked down into the city to orient myself and see what was open – answer, very little except the market. Back at the laundrette I transferred the clothes to a dryer and then organised what I already had in the car. I planned a little out of my day, then the laundry was dry except for my trousers (I did remember to change into the other pair) and socks, so they went on for another five minutes while I hung the shirts up and put them into the car). I also tried to see if I could pick up a wireless network, but no luck today. Then, with all the washing clean (this time the shirts were reasonably clean, but the socks weren’t dry still) and the socks spread across the back window-ledge.
I went to the funicular railway so I could get a better view of everything. The ride up was slow but the view from the station was good; the view from the top was magnificent! There were mountains, valleys, Lourdes itself and a number of small hamlets nestled into the sides of mountains (including the place I am staying in). After soaking that in, and taking the odd photo (and some normal ones) I went down, back into the car, got a baguette for lunch, picked up a map I had left and then headed out to Cirquiel Gavarne. This turned out to be a drive, then a walk, to the foot of the mountains I had seen from the top of the railway. I did this then because it was noon when I came out of the railway and nearly everything shuts from noon to 2. As it was into the mountains, it was cool but the sun did have a bite. There were pony and donkey rides instead of walking, but I needed the exercise (memo to self: only walk a long distance if you have your boots on, not your shoes, as they are NOT comfortable for walks over half an hour). The drive up and back was slower than I thought, so I wasn’t back into Lourdes until 4:30. I parked and walked over to the Shrine area, but after a quick look around I left (there were processions and other events being celebrated and I didn’t want to get in the way). On my way back I went through what has been described as a shrine of tackiness, and I have to agree. Apart from shops selling every piece of religious memorabilia you could image (and a lot more, even if you have a vivid imagination) and having the most outrageous names (including St Lawrence O’Toole, whom I have never heard of). The hotels however outdo them, mixing religion and popular culture and getting it oh so wrong. The only consolation is the prices are fairly reasonable, as there is a lot of competition (with over five million visitors a year in a town of 16 000, there have to be a lot of hotels). The best sight I saw was a bus driver, talking on his mobile, driving a full complement of passengers along a narrow street and weaving his way in and out of parked cars and pedestrians.
After that I returned (it being 6:30 nearly) and organised my (now) clean clothes (I do have eighteen sets, but somehow every other time I have miscounted – terrible for a maths teacher). My jacket needs washing, but the problem is I have so much stored in it AND it takes forever to dry as it can’t go through a dryer and has to drip-dry.
Now to do the photos and then organise some other pictures and off to bed to set out for my last day (at the moment) in France. I expect to be in Spain Thursday evening on my way to meet a cousin-in-law and will then stop in France on my way over to Italy.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
28 April
I was quite reluctant to rise this morning, having become accustomed to this abode, but having at the same time to move on. Eventually I got up, far later than I wanted, and was ready for breakfast at 8 but not packed.
I was the first at breakfast, but the table was set for three. My tea came out and then the other two arrived, an elderly couple with their little silky terrier. It liked people but didn’t like the owner’s dog, growling at it through the window each time the dog wandered across the patio. The new couple spoke no English, so it was a very limited conversation. After breakfast I settled my account, then packed. Even though this only took about five minutes, the others had already left for the day.
I initially headed towards Bordeaux. I thought if the weather was nice I would park, walk around and see some sights, then move on. However the weather, which had started out raining before I got up and then eased off, started raining again and by the time I got to Bordeaux, it was raining heavily.
Bordeaux looked like what I had imagined a French city to be. Water frontage (a very wide river), open squares with fountains and statues, streets lined with contiguous apartment houses of five or more stories and the occasional wide avenue. It even had a market area – filled today with a market! Roadworks and the incessant rain, together with small parking slots seen just after I passed, made me think that Bordeaux was a city I would like to visit in its own right. If I do return to France again, I will tour it as I did England originally and the US this time – train to a city, stay in the city and walk around the centre and use public transport to go further out, and spend at least two days in each city. One day to see the centre, and one day to see the more outlying features. Bordeaux would have to be one of those cities, as would be Paris, Marseilles and many others. Except for the cost of living, France would be a place I could live.
I left after having seen just a tiny taste, but realised I had better fill up with fuel as the warning light and horn had been telling me to do so for a half hour. I found a cheaper place, filled up (and noticed that seven out of the eight pumps in action when I was filling were diesel) and then headed out to Tarbes, a place I had picked because it looked big enough to have a Tourist Information Centre (yes) but small enough that I could park reasonably easily. I didn’t stop to send my Internet information because I had already determined there were Maccas spread all around the country (true, but …). Along the river valley I travelled, the soil looked so rich – black, light and friable.
I got to Tarbes, found the information centre, parked, got the information I was after (and taught the two women there to say “G’day” while finding out that other Australians had been there only a few days before and also commented on the lack of rain in Australia). I left the centre, determined to read the lists while sending all my Internet data. WRONG! Found a Macca’s, checked – no WiFi. Went out, found another, no WiFi again! Read my list, found a likely place to stay at Lourdes, rang, arranged to spend two nights there and headed of to Lourdes (and another Macca’s). Traffic in Lourdes was horrendous, so after getting a baguette and éclair, I went straight to where I was staying in Aspin (so I didn’t stay in Aspen CO but I did stay in Apsin just outside Lourdes). I booked in, then unpacked a little, then headed back into Lourdes. I parked, then walked. On the way I came across a E Leclerc bookshop, went in and was mesmerised by their maps (and Lonely Planet guides in French). I resisted the Lonely Planet guides (too heavy and I would have trouble reading them) but not the maps. Spain and the Pyrenees became slaves to my will. Then I headed down to Macca’s and, guess what, no WiFi again! So they missed out on a customer and I went back to the car … and noticed a laundrette just across from where I was parked. If I finish early tomorrow, or if it is raining heavily, I will do washing (my third last load away) there. Back in the car I pulled out the laptop and found … an open network! I uploaded my photos and my blog, then went onto emails. The connection dropped while I was sending my bulk email, so I had to hurriedly send a shortened version and hoped that got through (but everything else did, so I’ll try there again tomorrow).
I returned back to my new lodgings and went for a walk. Just opposite a lady was picking some roses to take inside and I indicated that they were wonderful blooms. She threw one down to me, so I thanked her and then walked along in the village, taking some photos of the village and the surroundings. I returned to my room, wrote this up and fixed up the photos (rotated yesterday’s as well as today’s), did a little reading and then went to sleep.
I was the first at breakfast, but the table was set for three. My tea came out and then the other two arrived, an elderly couple with their little silky terrier. It liked people but didn’t like the owner’s dog, growling at it through the window each time the dog wandered across the patio. The new couple spoke no English, so it was a very limited conversation. After breakfast I settled my account, then packed. Even though this only took about five minutes, the others had already left for the day.
I initially headed towards Bordeaux. I thought if the weather was nice I would park, walk around and see some sights, then move on. However the weather, which had started out raining before I got up and then eased off, started raining again and by the time I got to Bordeaux, it was raining heavily.
Bordeaux looked like what I had imagined a French city to be. Water frontage (a very wide river), open squares with fountains and statues, streets lined with contiguous apartment houses of five or more stories and the occasional wide avenue. It even had a market area – filled today with a market! Roadworks and the incessant rain, together with small parking slots seen just after I passed, made me think that Bordeaux was a city I would like to visit in its own right. If I do return to France again, I will tour it as I did England originally and the US this time – train to a city, stay in the city and walk around the centre and use public transport to go further out, and spend at least two days in each city. One day to see the centre, and one day to see the more outlying features. Bordeaux would have to be one of those cities, as would be Paris, Marseilles and many others. Except for the cost of living, France would be a place I could live.
I left after having seen just a tiny taste, but realised I had better fill up with fuel as the warning light and horn had been telling me to do so for a half hour. I found a cheaper place, filled up (and noticed that seven out of the eight pumps in action when I was filling were diesel) and then headed out to Tarbes, a place I had picked because it looked big enough to have a Tourist Information Centre (yes) but small enough that I could park reasonably easily. I didn’t stop to send my Internet information because I had already determined there were Maccas spread all around the country (true, but …). Along the river valley I travelled, the soil looked so rich – black, light and friable.
I got to Tarbes, found the information centre, parked, got the information I was after (and taught the two women there to say “G’day” while finding out that other Australians had been there only a few days before and also commented on the lack of rain in Australia). I left the centre, determined to read the lists while sending all my Internet data. WRONG! Found a Macca’s, checked – no WiFi. Went out, found another, no WiFi again! Read my list, found a likely place to stay at Lourdes, rang, arranged to spend two nights there and headed of to Lourdes (and another Macca’s). Traffic in Lourdes was horrendous, so after getting a baguette and éclair, I went straight to where I was staying in Aspin (so I didn’t stay in Aspen CO but I did stay in Apsin just outside Lourdes). I booked in, then unpacked a little, then headed back into Lourdes. I parked, then walked. On the way I came across a E Leclerc bookshop, went in and was mesmerised by their maps (and Lonely Planet guides in French). I resisted the Lonely Planet guides (too heavy and I would have trouble reading them) but not the maps. Spain and the Pyrenees became slaves to my will. Then I headed down to Macca’s and, guess what, no WiFi again! So they missed out on a customer and I went back to the car … and noticed a laundrette just across from where I was parked. If I finish early tomorrow, or if it is raining heavily, I will do washing (my third last load away) there. Back in the car I pulled out the laptop and found … an open network! I uploaded my photos and my blog, then went onto emails. The connection dropped while I was sending my bulk email, so I had to hurriedly send a shortened version and hoped that got through (but everything else did, so I’ll try there again tomorrow).
I returned back to my new lodgings and went for a walk. Just opposite a lady was picking some roses to take inside and I indicated that they were wonderful blooms. She threw one down to me, so I thanked her and then walked along in the village, taking some photos of the village and the surroundings. I returned to my room, wrote this up and fixed up the photos (rotated yesterday’s as well as today’s), did a little reading and then went to sleep.
Monday, April 28, 2008
27 April
Today I slept in a little after all the organising of files last night, so got up at 7:40 and was ready for breakfast at 8. The other two ladies were just ahead of me.
When we sat down I gave them a pin each and one to mine hostess. Then, while having breakfast, we discussed where I would be today and how I would go to Spain. I asked about accommodation - are there B&B-type places and my teacher colleague said no – only hotels! We then discussed a little of where the mother and daughter had been in Australia and where they were going on their next trip there. Eventually we all left the table and said our goodbyes. They left very quickly and were off to Arras next week to visit her brother.
I decided to head up the coast and have a look at La Rochelle and then the coast south from there, as far as Bordeaux if time permitted. I left not too long after and set sights for Rochefort and La Rochelle.
Along the way, just outside a small town (Rouillac) I saw the sight typical of this area of France, so I stopped and took some photos there. Then it was into Rochefort, a very quick look around and then to La Rochelle. The Visitor Information Centre was hiding behind works, so I continued on and parked across the river. Here I saw two interesting things – a set of electric cars being charged and an electric water-taxi, which you could hail electronically. Walking along there were two ships moored, forming a Museum, so I went in to have a look.
The smaller one was a trawler, so You could see how the crew lived (good if you were the captain, lousy if you were just a crewman), where they worked and how the boat worked. Very interesting and great for children or anyone unfamiliar with sea-going vessels. The holds were partitioned for different fish.
The larger one was a meteorological vessel. It was designed to go on station quickly, remain there and stable for a long time and then return quickly to port. It had diesel motors driving generators, which then drove electric motors for propulsion and supplied power to the technical areas. The accommodation on this was far superior to the trawler, but the men had four to a cabin and shared facilities. Still, there were about five kitchen staff plus mess-hands, so they were well looked after.
The rain returned as I walked back to the car, so I took the chance to call in, upload my photos and blog, have some lunch and send emails. I must be getting better because the counter staff didn’t laugh this time.
The rain was easing off as I left, so I went out to the Ile D’Oleron and saw some beautiful beaches there. The tidal range must be great as the beaches extended quite a way and the moorings in the marina looked to go up nearly three metres. Here the sun was shining and everyone was either out for a walk (adults and young children) or playing (older children and teenagers). Here I also saw another disappointment – a Surf Club, labelled as such, with a Chuppa-Chup dispenser out the front. I could have been at a beach in Australia! Getting to the island and back was via a good bridge which looked to have replaced a very old and decrepit causeway.
I set course to Chez Jambon via Bordeaux, but because I had told it not to use any motorways, as soon as I got within twenty kilometres of Bordeaux, I was turned around and directed back to my lodgings. I had just gone past a police radar trap in a small town and wondered wy it was set up, but the traffic density the other was suddenly increased. There had been a fair in the next town and there were cars everywhere. A little child walking along had an umbrella that looked different, and for a moment I couldn’t work out why – then I realised; it had ears! On the front it had a mouse face. At this time it didn’t matter, because I was getting tired anyway. I arrived back just after 7:30, transferred and processed the photos and then wrote this up. After that, it was to bed as I wanted to be packed to leave straight after breakfast. I plan to go to Bordeaux, then inland and find a place for two or three nights in the south of France. That way I will then take two days to drive down to southern Spain, where I will meet up with a cousin-in-law. I have to find out what accommodation options are in Spain, but may end up taking the easy way while travelling down (BUT NOT the Formule1 route, unless there is NO OTHER OPTION) by staying at a chain hotel or motel.
There are a few observations from today.
One is that most shops in smaller areas are closed on Sundays – some supermarkets are open Sunday morning, but don’t count on getting vital supplies. But the supermarkets! Brands include: E LeClerc, ATAC, Casino, Lidl, Aldi, SuperU (and HyperU), EcoMarche, Leader Price, InterMarche, Champion, Carrefours, Shopi and Mr Bricolage – more than you can point a stick at, and it looks like real competition. Oh we had such competition in Australia!
A second is the number of walls I went past which were from old estates, but now either in disrepair or just not used. Occasionally there were gates, some of which were locked, some falling (or fallen) down) and the odd one leading to a chateau seeming totally out of place with farms or a village all around it, and only a drive to show some of the old grandeur.
A third is construction. Most of the houses are made of concrete bricks, the size of our breeze blocks. The corners have a veneer of limestone which gives the impression that the corners are limestone blocks piled up (but they aren’t). These stand a few inches proud of the brickwork, which is then rendered with a mortar, filling the brickwork to within half an inch or so of the corner brickwork. It makes them look more like the older (either mud and wood or stone and mortar) buildings. Otherwise, barns or old houses have been gutted and provide the exterior, but the new house is constructed inside – it looks as old as the barn or house is, but is totally modern inside.
I was asked what had been my most memorable time so far while away. I’ll take a little time to answer (and if the family who asked read this, they’ll get a little more insight).
The friendliness of most people has been the overwhelming feature. I could single out particular individuals, but that may be difficult, so I’ll take one day with typical instances.
The day was at Tallahassee. In the morning I was at some caves. I chatted away with a State Park policeman, who gave me some insights into how the systems work in Florida (and I presume the other states). Then I did the cave tour with a school group, and chatted to the teachers and some of the children. In the afternoon I spoke with a volunteer at the Florida Museum in Tallahassee about typical foods and eating habits in Australia (she couldn’t believe them and I will email her recipes once I am home). Then I went to order a (real) sandwich at the cafeteria and the assistant couldn’t understand me, and a woman (whose husband was an ex-navy SEAL) helped me out and I ended up talking with the family (and visited their museum later). Not long after I went up to the top of the state building after a good chat with the police on duty there and was able to just wander around and take photos.
As far as sights go, Bryce Canyon is still at the top. Carlsbad Cavern is breathtaking, the Grand Canyon is awe-inspiring (at both ends and from the air), the Rockies are so “so” and the French countryside is so lush. For man-made structures, Amiens cathedral tops the list. For personal things, finding out and then seeing where my grandfather won his medal tops the lot.
When we sat down I gave them a pin each and one to mine hostess. Then, while having breakfast, we discussed where I would be today and how I would go to Spain. I asked about accommodation - are there B&B-type places and my teacher colleague said no – only hotels! We then discussed a little of where the mother and daughter had been in Australia and where they were going on their next trip there. Eventually we all left the table and said our goodbyes. They left very quickly and were off to Arras next week to visit her brother.
I decided to head up the coast and have a look at La Rochelle and then the coast south from there, as far as Bordeaux if time permitted. I left not too long after and set sights for Rochefort and La Rochelle.
Along the way, just outside a small town (Rouillac) I saw the sight typical of this area of France, so I stopped and took some photos there. Then it was into Rochefort, a very quick look around and then to La Rochelle. The Visitor Information Centre was hiding behind works, so I continued on and parked across the river. Here I saw two interesting things – a set of electric cars being charged and an electric water-taxi, which you could hail electronically. Walking along there were two ships moored, forming a Museum, so I went in to have a look.
The smaller one was a trawler, so You could see how the crew lived (good if you were the captain, lousy if you were just a crewman), where they worked and how the boat worked. Very interesting and great for children or anyone unfamiliar with sea-going vessels. The holds were partitioned for different fish.
The larger one was a meteorological vessel. It was designed to go on station quickly, remain there and stable for a long time and then return quickly to port. It had diesel motors driving generators, which then drove electric motors for propulsion and supplied power to the technical areas. The accommodation on this was far superior to the trawler, but the men had four to a cabin and shared facilities. Still, there were about five kitchen staff plus mess-hands, so they were well looked after.
The rain returned as I walked back to the car, so I took the chance to call in, upload my photos and blog, have some lunch and send emails. I must be getting better because the counter staff didn’t laugh this time.
The rain was easing off as I left, so I went out to the Ile D’Oleron and saw some beautiful beaches there. The tidal range must be great as the beaches extended quite a way and the moorings in the marina looked to go up nearly three metres. Here the sun was shining and everyone was either out for a walk (adults and young children) or playing (older children and teenagers). Here I also saw another disappointment – a Surf Club, labelled as such, with a Chuppa-Chup dispenser out the front. I could have been at a beach in Australia! Getting to the island and back was via a good bridge which looked to have replaced a very old and decrepit causeway.
I set course to Chez Jambon via Bordeaux, but because I had told it not to use any motorways, as soon as I got within twenty kilometres of Bordeaux, I was turned around and directed back to my lodgings. I had just gone past a police radar trap in a small town and wondered wy it was set up, but the traffic density the other was suddenly increased. There had been a fair in the next town and there were cars everywhere. A little child walking along had an umbrella that looked different, and for a moment I couldn’t work out why – then I realised; it had ears! On the front it had a mouse face. At this time it didn’t matter, because I was getting tired anyway. I arrived back just after 7:30, transferred and processed the photos and then wrote this up. After that, it was to bed as I wanted to be packed to leave straight after breakfast. I plan to go to Bordeaux, then inland and find a place for two or three nights in the south of France. That way I will then take two days to drive down to southern Spain, where I will meet up with a cousin-in-law. I have to find out what accommodation options are in Spain, but may end up taking the easy way while travelling down (BUT NOT the Formule1 route, unless there is NO OTHER OPTION) by staying at a chain hotel or motel.
There are a few observations from today.
One is that most shops in smaller areas are closed on Sundays – some supermarkets are open Sunday morning, but don’t count on getting vital supplies. But the supermarkets! Brands include: E LeClerc, ATAC, Casino, Lidl, Aldi, SuperU (and HyperU), EcoMarche, Leader Price, InterMarche, Champion, Carrefours, Shopi and Mr Bricolage – more than you can point a stick at, and it looks like real competition. Oh we had such competition in Australia!
A second is the number of walls I went past which were from old estates, but now either in disrepair or just not used. Occasionally there were gates, some of which were locked, some falling (or fallen) down) and the odd one leading to a chateau seeming totally out of place with farms or a village all around it, and only a drive to show some of the old grandeur.
A third is construction. Most of the houses are made of concrete bricks, the size of our breeze blocks. The corners have a veneer of limestone which gives the impression that the corners are limestone blocks piled up (but they aren’t). These stand a few inches proud of the brickwork, which is then rendered with a mortar, filling the brickwork to within half an inch or so of the corner brickwork. It makes them look more like the older (either mud and wood or stone and mortar) buildings. Otherwise, barns or old houses have been gutted and provide the exterior, but the new house is constructed inside – it looks as old as the barn or house is, but is totally modern inside.
I was asked what had been my most memorable time so far while away. I’ll take a little time to answer (and if the family who asked read this, they’ll get a little more insight).
The friendliness of most people has been the overwhelming feature. I could single out particular individuals, but that may be difficult, so I’ll take one day with typical instances.
The day was at Tallahassee. In the morning I was at some caves. I chatted away with a State Park policeman, who gave me some insights into how the systems work in Florida (and I presume the other states). Then I did the cave tour with a school group, and chatted to the teachers and some of the children. In the afternoon I spoke with a volunteer at the Florida Museum in Tallahassee about typical foods and eating habits in Australia (she couldn’t believe them and I will email her recipes once I am home). Then I went to order a (real) sandwich at the cafeteria and the assistant couldn’t understand me, and a woman (whose husband was an ex-navy SEAL) helped me out and I ended up talking with the family (and visited their museum later). Not long after I went up to the top of the state building after a good chat with the police on duty there and was able to just wander around and take photos.
As far as sights go, Bryce Canyon is still at the top. Carlsbad Cavern is breathtaking, the Grand Canyon is awe-inspiring (at both ends and from the air), the Rockies are so “so” and the French countryside is so lush. For man-made structures, Amiens cathedral tops the list. For personal things, finding out and then seeing where my grandfather won his medal tops the lot.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
26 April
Today I awoke early (most likely because it was warm, something which remained true during the day). However I resisted the temptation to rise early (mostly because there wasn’t much I could do) and eventually arose in time to be ready for breakfast at 8. I took the laptop as well as the vegemite down. Over breakfast I showed everyone (other guests and hostess) some photos of the Great Ocean Road, the Nullarbor and the Centre and North. I even got mine hostess to try vegemite, but it was not well received.
After breakfast I finished preparing and headed off just before 9. I had decided to visit the two Neanderthal sites today, the Roque Saint-Christophe and Les Grottes du Roc de Cazelle. On the way I saw a motorcycle policeman who had pulled a van up to book the driver – half-way around a roundabout!
I arrived at the first about 11. The girl on the counter said it would take about forty-five minutes to walk through and it actually took me an hour. I didn’t go with the guided tour as, in quickly spoken French, I wouldn’t have understood sufficient to warrant it.
The area is actually about one kilometre long with five rock shelves. Only a few hundred metres at two levels are open to the public, but they give a good overview of the area during its habitation from over forty thousand years ago to 1588, when it was destroyed on the orders of the Roman Catholic king of France, Henry III.
The area was naturally cut off from the valley and the hollowed areas were used for habitation and storage, with improvements being done by all different inhabitants, though the majority was done after 976 when Bishop Frotaire of Perigueux decided to build a fortress there. In the sixteenth century protestants occupied the town and fortress, which is why the king ordered it destroyed.
The area had living spaces, religious spaces, areas for stock storage and slaughter, a quarry and mechanisms to defend it from the river and to accept supplies from the river. The current road has moved the river from the base of the caves.
They are the largest natural sheltered spaces in Europe and have been continuously occupied longer than any other areas in the world. Seeing them and how easy it would have been to defend them against natural and human predators, at least until the time of ballistic projectiles, explains why.
After that, I went off to the caves of the Cazelle rock. Here, as well as the actual spaces, recreations of the inhabitants and aspects of their lives makes it easy to see how they survived and thrived around here. Living in the caves only ceased in 1966, but families still live in caves in France (in the Loire Valley, for example) as they do in other parts of the world, such as Coober Pedy, where the miners make the caves.
I spoke to the girl on the desk, telling her that and asking if she would look it up (she spoke very good English, again in response to my poor French). She had a Mac computer on in the background, so I knew it would be easy.
After that I headed towards the coast. I intended to look at Bordeaux, but by 4 I was at Bergerac (the town, not the character from the TV series about a policeman on the Channel Islands called Bergerac and played by John Nettles, of Midsomer Murders fame). Just before here, on the outskirts of a little town, I saw my first French police with radar guns pulling up motorists. Needless to say, they were doing a roaring trade! I called in to upload my pictures and blog (with no trouble, I might add), but when ordering at McDonald’s my poor accent got the girl on the counter and she could barely stop giggling. I couldn’t work out why sometime she had glasses on and other times not until I realised they were sisters (she confirmed that). I checked my emails and deleted all my junk mail (which seems to come through very slowly on one account), sent out my bulk email and one or two individual ones, then left. I headed towards the coast, but it was now much later and much warmer, so I was feeling drowsy. I headed back towards my lodgings, choosing to avoid main roads. I got to see very large vineyards, more large grain fields and, in one small town, three supermarkets. There is a wide variety here, which I will list one day before I leave, as I am jotting them down in the car. I am amazed at the number and size of the rivers – they are literally everywhere and are large in width (and I assume flow). A consequence is the crops, which are extremely lush and green, an eye-opener for someone from dry Australia.
I arrived back and cleaned my boots, finding to my shock and horror that I have worn through the sole of one and nearly through the sole of the other. This means I will only wear them on the plane now, as they are too heavy to carry in my luggage (but I must get them resoled immediately I arrive back home).
Now a little about my little Renault Clio. With five doors (including a hatch), a five-speed manual transmission (but no baulk or block on reverse), airconditioning and a reasonable sound system (but no direct input, so I have to listen to the iPod through the Griffin transmitter) and a 1.5 L turbo-charged diesel engine, it has now done nearly 5500 kilometres.
The seats are comfortable, but still only two-hour seats (in other words, at the end of two hours, the seats start becoming less comfortable). They are thicker than the Barina seats (that’s why they are more comfortable), but that also means less space inside despite a bigger body outside than the Barina. It has cruise control, which kicks off when either the brake or the clutch is used. The cruise is really good on divided roads or autoroutes, but useless on all other roads as winding roads (often very narrow), steep hills (both up and down) and town speed limits every few kilometres make constant cruising impossible. The cruise switch is hidden by the steering wheel and cannot be seen for operation (I have to peer around the wheel), yet the operational controls are plainly visible on the wheel hub. The car has good acceleration, very good once over 2000 revolutions, excellent over 3000 revolutions but then it really uses fuel. With gentle driving and no driving over 90 km/hr, the car has managed to now get at least 4.4 litres per hundred kilometres (nearly 64 miles to the gallon, for those who know real consumption), giving a tank range of over 1500 kilometres. Although the tank is quoted at 55 litres, I would estimate it at about 62 water litres (i.e. real capacity when filled). It is costing me about A$90 to travel 1000 kilometres, less than it would cost me in Australia in my Commodore or about the same as the Barina.
The sound system is good, but the controls on the dash are too fiddly to use while driving. The column controls are totally hidden by the steering wheel and are relatively complex, so only the volume and mute controls (on paddles) are easily usable. Having an external aerial means signals are received for longer than when aerials are built into the screens (it is higher, and can be better designed for gain).
It does not have a power socket (that I can find), only a cigarette socket, which means when the ignition goes off, so does the power.
It does not beep at me when I leave the key in (but of course I have to take it out to remotely lock the car) nor does it require me to do things in a preset sequence. It does not lock me in when I drive off, but I can choose to lock myself in. Chevrolet designers, TAKE NOTE!
The dash computer display is in the binnacle (good), but is red LEDs (bad), too small (bad) and the figures do not differentiate clearly between 0, 6 and 8. The French wording I accept, as it is a French car, bought and registered in France. However, being able to change languages would be good (there may be a way of doing this, but as the operator’s manual didn’t even obviously show where the cruise control switch was, I don’t hold out too much hope of finding it).
The turn indicators and wipers are on the correct side, but the wipers are not intuitive to use. The stalks are too short and at the wrong angles. The direction stalk is too busy, with headlights, driving lights and foglights all on the stalk. Fortunately it does have complete manual control.
Its storage capacity is about average for the size of vehicle. Handling is not as good as I would have believed, given Renault’s experience with small vehicles, but that may be a function of the type of front suspension (McPherson struts are great for compactness and cost-effective, but cannot match the handling of upper and lower wishbones properly set up) and the tyres (Continental cannot match Michelins or Pirellis for small cars). I haven’t seen the spare, but I believe it is a space-saver. This may be okay for Europe, with towns only a few kilometres apart, but for Australia where it can be well over 1200 kilometres to get the correct tyre, it is unsafe! Also, you have to put the tyre from the car in there, so the well has to be full-size anyway.
The mirrors are a real disappointment. The passenger’s side is convex, and the driver’s side is convex with two different profiles – both are only good as digital mirrors (is there something there, or not) and require a head-turn and a centre mirror view to estimate position and distance. They are useless for parking and I have to wind the window down or get out and look. This seems to be common as I see many other late-model car drivers parking by ear (but not older cars).
The key has to be turned back to “lock” to restart the engine. This seems to be common to many European makes and can be a hazard if the engine stalls in traffic. The excellent torque of the diesel means it rarely stalls on hill starts, even at idle, unlike petrol engines which need to be revved.
Being a current-model diesel, there are no glow plugs and therefore no wait time for an initial start.
It is an excellent advertisement for diesel power and makes me wonder why Holden do not offer a 3 litre turbo-charged diesel in Commodores. With a six or seven speed automatic, there is no reason why figures of 10 litres per hundred kilometres around town and 6 or less litres per hundred kilometres in the country are not possible.
It is a well-built car with some engineering design flaws.
Would I buy a Renault Clio at home? Not now, as I don’t need a “shopping trolley” any more. Also, it would have to be on sale at about A$18 000 as a three door manual, with air conditioning and stereo with CD, mp3 player and direct input to be viable for me. It certainly is not a long-distance cruiser, although it’s going to have some practice going down to the south of Spain, then to the south of Italy and then across Germany.
After all that, I tidied up both the hard drive on the laptop and the spare that I am carrying as I had run out of room. Now I’m right for room, but have to back up files and send them off to Australia.
Now, finally, to sleep.
After breakfast I finished preparing and headed off just before 9. I had decided to visit the two Neanderthal sites today, the Roque Saint-Christophe and Les Grottes du Roc de Cazelle. On the way I saw a motorcycle policeman who had pulled a van up to book the driver – half-way around a roundabout!
I arrived at the first about 11. The girl on the counter said it would take about forty-five minutes to walk through and it actually took me an hour. I didn’t go with the guided tour as, in quickly spoken French, I wouldn’t have understood sufficient to warrant it.
The area is actually about one kilometre long with five rock shelves. Only a few hundred metres at two levels are open to the public, but they give a good overview of the area during its habitation from over forty thousand years ago to 1588, when it was destroyed on the orders of the Roman Catholic king of France, Henry III.
The area was naturally cut off from the valley and the hollowed areas were used for habitation and storage, with improvements being done by all different inhabitants, though the majority was done after 976 when Bishop Frotaire of Perigueux decided to build a fortress there. In the sixteenth century protestants occupied the town and fortress, which is why the king ordered it destroyed.
The area had living spaces, religious spaces, areas for stock storage and slaughter, a quarry and mechanisms to defend it from the river and to accept supplies from the river. The current road has moved the river from the base of the caves.
They are the largest natural sheltered spaces in Europe and have been continuously occupied longer than any other areas in the world. Seeing them and how easy it would have been to defend them against natural and human predators, at least until the time of ballistic projectiles, explains why.
After that, I went off to the caves of the Cazelle rock. Here, as well as the actual spaces, recreations of the inhabitants and aspects of their lives makes it easy to see how they survived and thrived around here. Living in the caves only ceased in 1966, but families still live in caves in France (in the Loire Valley, for example) as they do in other parts of the world, such as Coober Pedy, where the miners make the caves.
I spoke to the girl on the desk, telling her that and asking if she would look it up (she spoke very good English, again in response to my poor French). She had a Mac computer on in the background, so I knew it would be easy.
After that I headed towards the coast. I intended to look at Bordeaux, but by 4 I was at Bergerac (the town, not the character from the TV series about a policeman on the Channel Islands called Bergerac and played by John Nettles, of Midsomer Murders fame). Just before here, on the outskirts of a little town, I saw my first French police with radar guns pulling up motorists. Needless to say, they were doing a roaring trade! I called in to upload my pictures and blog (with no trouble, I might add), but when ordering at McDonald’s my poor accent got the girl on the counter and she could barely stop giggling. I couldn’t work out why sometime she had glasses on and other times not until I realised they were sisters (she confirmed that). I checked my emails and deleted all my junk mail (which seems to come through very slowly on one account), sent out my bulk email and one or two individual ones, then left. I headed towards the coast, but it was now much later and much warmer, so I was feeling drowsy. I headed back towards my lodgings, choosing to avoid main roads. I got to see very large vineyards, more large grain fields and, in one small town, three supermarkets. There is a wide variety here, which I will list one day before I leave, as I am jotting them down in the car. I am amazed at the number and size of the rivers – they are literally everywhere and are large in width (and I assume flow). A consequence is the crops, which are extremely lush and green, an eye-opener for someone from dry Australia.
I arrived back and cleaned my boots, finding to my shock and horror that I have worn through the sole of one and nearly through the sole of the other. This means I will only wear them on the plane now, as they are too heavy to carry in my luggage (but I must get them resoled immediately I arrive back home).
Now a little about my little Renault Clio. With five doors (including a hatch), a five-speed manual transmission (but no baulk or block on reverse), airconditioning and a reasonable sound system (but no direct input, so I have to listen to the iPod through the Griffin transmitter) and a 1.5 L turbo-charged diesel engine, it has now done nearly 5500 kilometres.
The seats are comfortable, but still only two-hour seats (in other words, at the end of two hours, the seats start becoming less comfortable). They are thicker than the Barina seats (that’s why they are more comfortable), but that also means less space inside despite a bigger body outside than the Barina. It has cruise control, which kicks off when either the brake or the clutch is used. The cruise is really good on divided roads or autoroutes, but useless on all other roads as winding roads (often very narrow), steep hills (both up and down) and town speed limits every few kilometres make constant cruising impossible. The cruise switch is hidden by the steering wheel and cannot be seen for operation (I have to peer around the wheel), yet the operational controls are plainly visible on the wheel hub. The car has good acceleration, very good once over 2000 revolutions, excellent over 3000 revolutions but then it really uses fuel. With gentle driving and no driving over 90 km/hr, the car has managed to now get at least 4.4 litres per hundred kilometres (nearly 64 miles to the gallon, for those who know real consumption), giving a tank range of over 1500 kilometres. Although the tank is quoted at 55 litres, I would estimate it at about 62 water litres (i.e. real capacity when filled). It is costing me about A$90 to travel 1000 kilometres, less than it would cost me in Australia in my Commodore or about the same as the Barina.
The sound system is good, but the controls on the dash are too fiddly to use while driving. The column controls are totally hidden by the steering wheel and are relatively complex, so only the volume and mute controls (on paddles) are easily usable. Having an external aerial means signals are received for longer than when aerials are built into the screens (it is higher, and can be better designed for gain).
It does not have a power socket (that I can find), only a cigarette socket, which means when the ignition goes off, so does the power.
It does not beep at me when I leave the key in (but of course I have to take it out to remotely lock the car) nor does it require me to do things in a preset sequence. It does not lock me in when I drive off, but I can choose to lock myself in. Chevrolet designers, TAKE NOTE!
The dash computer display is in the binnacle (good), but is red LEDs (bad), too small (bad) and the figures do not differentiate clearly between 0, 6 and 8. The French wording I accept, as it is a French car, bought and registered in France. However, being able to change languages would be good (there may be a way of doing this, but as the operator’s manual didn’t even obviously show where the cruise control switch was, I don’t hold out too much hope of finding it).
The turn indicators and wipers are on the correct side, but the wipers are not intuitive to use. The stalks are too short and at the wrong angles. The direction stalk is too busy, with headlights, driving lights and foglights all on the stalk. Fortunately it does have complete manual control.
Its storage capacity is about average for the size of vehicle. Handling is not as good as I would have believed, given Renault’s experience with small vehicles, but that may be a function of the type of front suspension (McPherson struts are great for compactness and cost-effective, but cannot match the handling of upper and lower wishbones properly set up) and the tyres (Continental cannot match Michelins or Pirellis for small cars). I haven’t seen the spare, but I believe it is a space-saver. This may be okay for Europe, with towns only a few kilometres apart, but for Australia where it can be well over 1200 kilometres to get the correct tyre, it is unsafe! Also, you have to put the tyre from the car in there, so the well has to be full-size anyway.
The mirrors are a real disappointment. The passenger’s side is convex, and the driver’s side is convex with two different profiles – both are only good as digital mirrors (is there something there, or not) and require a head-turn and a centre mirror view to estimate position and distance. They are useless for parking and I have to wind the window down or get out and look. This seems to be common as I see many other late-model car drivers parking by ear (but not older cars).
The key has to be turned back to “lock” to restart the engine. This seems to be common to many European makes and can be a hazard if the engine stalls in traffic. The excellent torque of the diesel means it rarely stalls on hill starts, even at idle, unlike petrol engines which need to be revved.
Being a current-model diesel, there are no glow plugs and therefore no wait time for an initial start.
It is an excellent advertisement for diesel power and makes me wonder why Holden do not offer a 3 litre turbo-charged diesel in Commodores. With a six or seven speed automatic, there is no reason why figures of 10 litres per hundred kilometres around town and 6 or less litres per hundred kilometres in the country are not possible.
It is a well-built car with some engineering design flaws.
Would I buy a Renault Clio at home? Not now, as I don’t need a “shopping trolley” any more. Also, it would have to be on sale at about A$18 000 as a three door manual, with air conditioning and stereo with CD, mp3 player and direct input to be viable for me. It certainly is not a long-distance cruiser, although it’s going to have some practice going down to the south of Spain, then to the south of Italy and then across Germany.
After all that, I tidied up both the hard drive on the laptop and the spare that I am carrying as I had run out of room. Now I’m right for room, but have to back up files and send them off to Australia.
Now, finally, to sleep.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
25 April - ANZAC Day
Toady I woke up feeling different. It was ANZAC day and I now had a reason to celebrate it, but in this area of France, there weren’t any Australians (as far as I know), so there weren’t any local celebrations.
I got up and went in to have breakfast. Instead of the area I thought, which has a sink, fridge, cabinets and table, we went into the dining room where the table was set for three. I sat down and only a few minutes later, two ladies came in. One, the younger, had a T-shirt with KAKADU NATIONAL PARK across it, so I immediately said, “Have you been there?” She said yes, and then I said I was Australian. She couldn’t believe it for a few minutes, but then accepted it once she saw the vegemite. She is a French teacher of History in Bordeaux, currently on holidays (each area has different holidays, which explains so many children around at odd times). She holidays with her mother and they were in Australia a few years ago (Sydney, Brisbane via the coast and Uluru and then Kakadu). They have also been to the US, but we didn’t get any further than that.
I found out they do have meat pies in France, tous en viende, I think, but I still don’t know where. Biscuits we didn’t get around to. They asked where I had been and by the time we got that out of the way, the distances I travel in Australia, and where I was going to go, breakfast was finished. I gave them my email address, also to mine hostess who was interested in the conversation but not able to follow it.
Then I finished my preparation, not to leave permanently, but only for the day. The mother and daughter had already left, so after I packed I tried to work out where to go. A place called Perigueux triggered my imagination so I headed off there. On the way I saw signs for prehistory, so I asked the SatNav what tourist attractions were there – a CroMagnon display of cave art, so I then headed off there. I arrived there not long after 11 and had a quick look around the area. Then I went to buy a ticket and my accent gave me away again and I got booked for the English tour – a good idea, even if someone else suggested it for me. While waiting I heard a family speaking in English and spoke to them. The father is (was) a Navy pilot, with Orion P3s and the mother is home-schooling the children (two girls, just and older teenager). They are in Europe for six weeks and have seen Sicily, Spain and now France before heading home to Washington D.C. We chatted about touring and where each of us had been (they have friends in Perth), then the cave tour started.
Our guide was French but spoke quite good English. He indispersed the discovery of the cave, the fate of the original and the creation of this one (which is why it is called Lascaux II) and the exposition of the paintings with humour and facts, creating a light-hearted but informative session. People on the tour had some interesting questions, but because his explanations were so good, there weren’t too many questions.
The essential points were:
- the cave was discovered by teenagers searching for a lost dog;
- the knowledge of the cave was passed onto their teacher;
- a local priest, knowledgeable in such areas, investigated it;
- after WWII the cave was opened for viewing, but the paintings started to deteriorate;
- the cave was closed and a duplicate cave created;
- the duplicate cave was opened for tourists and the original left in as close to its original state as possible.
- while the pigments for the paintings is known (clay, manganese dioxide, iron oxide) as is the method of application (fingers, pads of fur, brushes from wooden twigs and spitting, either from hollow wood or directly from mouths – but not on the ceilings, for obvious reasons) and the fact that scaffolding was used, why the paintings were done, their significance to those who did them and whether they were done over a short or extended period remains a mystery.
The tour of a replica, painstakingly copied from the original except for the floor (for safety reasons) makes sense in view of allowing people to see it but not to have the original deteriorate.
After the tour, I spoke to the family again and gave the children homework (which I will state her, but not give the answers as they may read this). I gave them a koala and kangaroo pin (one each) and asked them to find out about the stone set in it – what it is, where it comes from and a little bit about the place it comes from. I also asked the older one to try to find out which GMH (Holden) car was exported to the U.S. Then I headed off.
I called in at a McDonalds on the way to my next destination, Brive-la-Gaillarde. Here I was able to send yesterday’s photos and blog, as well as check my email (no hassles today). However the town I was in (Terrason Lavilledieu) looked so interesting that I headed back to the Tourist Bureaus (yes, there were two, one for the department and one for the town) and got some information, then went on a walking tour of part of the town. It was extremely interesting because I could get up close to things quite quickly. Also, the church, despite its age and significance, was still used for its original purpose. After seeing around (and getting a triumphant angler with his catch), I headed off. I decided to head back to where I was staying via the north and then west, to see a different aspect of the countryside. It was immediately obvious that the undulating area where I was staying (which included large wheat and corn fields) was very different from this, primarily orchard, area, which was also rolling valleys with villages clinging to the sides rather than being in the actual valley. Every time I wanted to get a photo, there was nowhere to stop and there were cars behind me. While heading towards Rochehouart, I stopped in the village of Juillac to get the only photos I could.
As I got closer to (temporary) home, I kept crossing a river called La Tardio (or similar), so anyone from school reading this can get Andrew to read today’s blog (You’ll know which Andrew). Then, in the middle of nowhere, there was this large chateau / castle. It had started out as a small fortified tower, but then been extended on in times of peace (noticeable because of large glazed windows in the newer section). Not long after that came a real large castle, but again the need not to be run over by cars, trucks, tractors and the local police and gendarmerie meant I couldn’t stop and get a picture. I may try tomorrow or I may head to Bordeaux and look around there instead.
Then I was back, so I unpacked, and started writing this up and processing the photos. I did it in the common area, but the others did not come back before I finished and the owners did not pop down at all. I’ll get some pictures up tomorrow morning and take the laptop into breakfast and see if they are interested.
But for now it’s time to kiss mum and dad, brush your teeth and off to bed (for those of you who remember Keith Smith as the Pied Piper).
I got up and went in to have breakfast. Instead of the area I thought, which has a sink, fridge, cabinets and table, we went into the dining room where the table was set for three. I sat down and only a few minutes later, two ladies came in. One, the younger, had a T-shirt with KAKADU NATIONAL PARK across it, so I immediately said, “Have you been there?” She said yes, and then I said I was Australian. She couldn’t believe it for a few minutes, but then accepted it once she saw the vegemite. She is a French teacher of History in Bordeaux, currently on holidays (each area has different holidays, which explains so many children around at odd times). She holidays with her mother and they were in Australia a few years ago (Sydney, Brisbane via the coast and Uluru and then Kakadu). They have also been to the US, but we didn’t get any further than that.
I found out they do have meat pies in France, tous en viende, I think, but I still don’t know where. Biscuits we didn’t get around to. They asked where I had been and by the time we got that out of the way, the distances I travel in Australia, and where I was going to go, breakfast was finished. I gave them my email address, also to mine hostess who was interested in the conversation but not able to follow it.
Then I finished my preparation, not to leave permanently, but only for the day. The mother and daughter had already left, so after I packed I tried to work out where to go. A place called Perigueux triggered my imagination so I headed off there. On the way I saw signs for prehistory, so I asked the SatNav what tourist attractions were there – a CroMagnon display of cave art, so I then headed off there. I arrived there not long after 11 and had a quick look around the area. Then I went to buy a ticket and my accent gave me away again and I got booked for the English tour – a good idea, even if someone else suggested it for me. While waiting I heard a family speaking in English and spoke to them. The father is (was) a Navy pilot, with Orion P3s and the mother is home-schooling the children (two girls, just and older teenager). They are in Europe for six weeks and have seen Sicily, Spain and now France before heading home to Washington D.C. We chatted about touring and where each of us had been (they have friends in Perth), then the cave tour started.
Our guide was French but spoke quite good English. He indispersed the discovery of the cave, the fate of the original and the creation of this one (which is why it is called Lascaux II) and the exposition of the paintings with humour and facts, creating a light-hearted but informative session. People on the tour had some interesting questions, but because his explanations were so good, there weren’t too many questions.
The essential points were:
- the cave was discovered by teenagers searching for a lost dog;
- the knowledge of the cave was passed onto their teacher;
- a local priest, knowledgeable in such areas, investigated it;
- after WWII the cave was opened for viewing, but the paintings started to deteriorate;
- the cave was closed and a duplicate cave created;
- the duplicate cave was opened for tourists and the original left in as close to its original state as possible.
- while the pigments for the paintings is known (clay, manganese dioxide, iron oxide) as is the method of application (fingers, pads of fur, brushes from wooden twigs and spitting, either from hollow wood or directly from mouths – but not on the ceilings, for obvious reasons) and the fact that scaffolding was used, why the paintings were done, their significance to those who did them and whether they were done over a short or extended period remains a mystery.
The tour of a replica, painstakingly copied from the original except for the floor (for safety reasons) makes sense in view of allowing people to see it but not to have the original deteriorate.
After the tour, I spoke to the family again and gave the children homework (which I will state her, but not give the answers as they may read this). I gave them a koala and kangaroo pin (one each) and asked them to find out about the stone set in it – what it is, where it comes from and a little bit about the place it comes from. I also asked the older one to try to find out which GMH (Holden) car was exported to the U.S. Then I headed off.
I called in at a McDonalds on the way to my next destination, Brive-la-Gaillarde. Here I was able to send yesterday’s photos and blog, as well as check my email (no hassles today). However the town I was in (Terrason Lavilledieu) looked so interesting that I headed back to the Tourist Bureaus (yes, there were two, one for the department and one for the town) and got some information, then went on a walking tour of part of the town. It was extremely interesting because I could get up close to things quite quickly. Also, the church, despite its age and significance, was still used for its original purpose. After seeing around (and getting a triumphant angler with his catch), I headed off. I decided to head back to where I was staying via the north and then west, to see a different aspect of the countryside. It was immediately obvious that the undulating area where I was staying (which included large wheat and corn fields) was very different from this, primarily orchard, area, which was also rolling valleys with villages clinging to the sides rather than being in the actual valley. Every time I wanted to get a photo, there was nowhere to stop and there were cars behind me. While heading towards Rochehouart, I stopped in the village of Juillac to get the only photos I could.
As I got closer to (temporary) home, I kept crossing a river called La Tardio (or similar), so anyone from school reading this can get Andrew to read today’s blog (You’ll know which Andrew). Then, in the middle of nowhere, there was this large chateau / castle. It had started out as a small fortified tower, but then been extended on in times of peace (noticeable because of large glazed windows in the newer section). Not long after that came a real large castle, but again the need not to be run over by cars, trucks, tractors and the local police and gendarmerie meant I couldn’t stop and get a picture. I may try tomorrow or I may head to Bordeaux and look around there instead.
Then I was back, so I unpacked, and started writing this up and processing the photos. I did it in the common area, but the others did not come back before I finished and the owners did not pop down at all. I’ll get some pictures up tomorrow morning and take the laptop into breakfast and see if they are interested.
But for now it’s time to kiss mum and dad, brush your teeth and off to bed (for those of you who remember Keith Smith as the Pied Piper).
Friday, April 25, 2008
24 April
Before I begin, there are two incidents which I omitted to mention from the past few days.
Th first was in Angers, just after I had parked the car, got the parking receipt and put it on the dash and was locking the car. A man in a light coat, leading a labrador, came up to me and started speaking rapidly in French. I replied, “Je parle Francais en petit peu” and he smoothly changed into English and said that he had parked his car, lost his wallet and didn’t have money for the fuel to drive home. Feeling sorry, I gave him €5, which is enough for about four litres of fuel. He said thank you in impeccable English and strolled off. I still wonder if I had been had by the most educated beggar in Angers.
The second was in Beaufort, where I had stopped to mail an envelope to England, asking a relative to drop postcards into a letterbox for me. I had written them up on the train from Gatwick, but because of the late arrival of the train and the early boarding call for the EuroStar, I hadn’t been able to find a place to post them (and other countries tend not to like accepting stamps from different countries). I had got that posted and was walking back to the car when a woman in a small car stopped as I was about to cross the road and started asking for directions in French. I said, “Pardon, je suis Australien; je visite” and she smoothly changed into well-spoken English and said, “You mean you don’t speak French” and drove off. I think she actually was English.
I awoke and prepared myself this morning to go down for breakfast at 7:30. When I got down I was asked which dink I wanted, and so I asked for thé, au lait, but forgot to add “froid lait”, so a few moments later a teapot and warm milk appeared in front of me.
I started eating and she sat down and had coffee and bread with me. The French habit appears to be to take a piece of bread, dunk it in the coffee and then chew it. It made me long so much for a chocolate ripple or a teddy bear. I saw a map on the wall, pointed out where I came from, where I had travelled and where I was going. Mine hostess said that one of her sons had been in Sydney for the Olympics, with a boat. I didn’t quite understand whether he had travelled there on a boat or had competed in a boat. Then she asked about Australia and I got the laptop and showed her pictures of Australia, the desert, Uluru, dry lakes and family. After that, she showed me a picture on the wall of her family – husband (deceased), six sons and their wives and children. As a result, I didn’t leave until nearly 9.
I had chosen a place which was inland, of a reasonable size and had what looked like interesting country all around it – Angouleme. I set the SatNav into action and headed off. It was about 11:30 when I had to stop, in a little town called Oulmet. First thing was the public toilets – very public, but I had no choice. Second thing was the smell from the local patisserie – again I had no choice. These French have given me an incurable addiction to baguettes. I had a can of Coke Zero (the inside of the car is cool enough that I can drink it) because I had passed recycling bins. I walked back and … you guessed it, recycling for paper, recycling for plastic but NOT for aluminium. Into the rubbish it went.
I headed out and decided that I should stop in an hour and finish the baguette. I pulled over into a rest area, with an information board. On a map of the region, with the roads ending with arrows and the name of the next town, someone with more ability to remember than sense had textad over all the names with “Rome” and then added, “All roads lead to Rome”. While eating, a little boy from a camper next to me (it looked like grandparents with a girl about ten and a boy about four) started playing peekaboo around their vehicle. When I left, he looked so sad I called him and the granfather over and gave him a kangaroo pin. I think the grandfather was more impressed than the child, but they did all wave enthusiastically as I left.
In the early afternoon (about 2, so I had to pay for parking) I arrived in the middle of Angouleme. When I say the middle, I MEAN the MIDDLE. The Tourist Information Centre was right in the centre of town. I circled the square a few times looking for a spot I could get into without trying to reverse park with about four hundred spectators – but ended up around the corner, where the window in a disused shop made it easy to get the car into a very small spot (and the car isn’t large, but with traffic behind, and so many watching and me still being unsure parallel parking on the wrong side, discretion was better). I took the directions from the SatNav for walking and found the centre was just around the corner instead of up the street. After getting the list of chambre d’hotes (try typing that and the spell corrector automatically fixes it, when I really want that spelling), I walked around the town for a little, seeing the suburbs from the citadel of the original town, some of the original town walls and a church. I realised it must be spring with love in the air as there were a few Durex dispensers on walls in the town. Then I headed out and found a Macca’s (with WiFi), got a drink and set up, but the security certificate from the McDonald’s supplier had expired and my laptop wasn’t going to connect until I accepted the new one – but I didn’t realise that until I had a number of fruitless attempts to connect. I got through, and did what I wanted, but took too long to do it.
Back in the car I looked at the available options. I selected likely ones on price, position and location (under €40 per night, fairly close to Angouleme but in a rural area). As luck would have it, the first one I rang was able to take me for four nights (so I can explore the region in different directions each day, and do so until late because I don’t have to worry about where to stay, and then head off on Monday to Bordeaux, and then south to Spain). I kept my fingers crossed because this was sight and reputation unseen, but so far each has been good in its own way and had far more advantages than disadvantages (Formule1 excluded). I found the town but had to get directions to find Chez Jambon. I got there and found it a pleasant room, one single and one double bed, with en suite and TV (though I think I have watched a total of ten hours while away, most in the US and none in England or here – I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms from “The Bill”!).
Once I had confirmed that I was staying for four nights and the time for breakfast, I headed off back to Angouleme. I had to fill the car with diesel (not really, but after one thousand kilometres and half a tank, according to the gauge, I wanted to choose where and when to do it, not have to do it at the last minute. I had seen a different supermarket, Carrefours (which means “crossroads”) opposite McDonald’s, so I went there. Filling up was a pleasant surprise – nearly sixty four miles per gallon from this tank and now just over fifty three miles per gallon overall (alright, for those of you who don’t know real quoted fuel consumption when you see it, the figures are 4.4 and 4.9 litres per hundred kilometres). I can only presume the car is run in now, as the fuel consumption seems to be plateauing.
Then I went into the supermarket. The first thing I should say is this one was different, being a shopping centre under the one roof (and I mean the one roof – it resembled a factory building [metal skin, skillion roof) with shops built inside, except the supermarket). A perfumerie caught my eye – Douglas – and I felt like buying something just to get the receipt. Then into the supermarket and prices here were reasonably good – most food was comparable to Australia or within twenty per cent, and goods were similar in price, given exchange (except my SatNav, which I got for $399 in Australia [and was around for $365] and here was €259 with France and €299 with Western Europe) rates. I resisted temptation (but may not if I visit there again) and left, setting the SatNav to take me directly here (I found it had Chez Jambon in memory).
I unpacked, moved things and me in, wrote up today, processed the photos and then called it quits for the evening.
Th first was in Angers, just after I had parked the car, got the parking receipt and put it on the dash and was locking the car. A man in a light coat, leading a labrador, came up to me and started speaking rapidly in French. I replied, “Je parle Francais en petit peu” and he smoothly changed into English and said that he had parked his car, lost his wallet and didn’t have money for the fuel to drive home. Feeling sorry, I gave him €5, which is enough for about four litres of fuel. He said thank you in impeccable English and strolled off. I still wonder if I had been had by the most educated beggar in Angers.
The second was in Beaufort, where I had stopped to mail an envelope to England, asking a relative to drop postcards into a letterbox for me. I had written them up on the train from Gatwick, but because of the late arrival of the train and the early boarding call for the EuroStar, I hadn’t been able to find a place to post them (and other countries tend not to like accepting stamps from different countries). I had got that posted and was walking back to the car when a woman in a small car stopped as I was about to cross the road and started asking for directions in French. I said, “Pardon, je suis Australien; je visite” and she smoothly changed into well-spoken English and said, “You mean you don’t speak French” and drove off. I think she actually was English.
I awoke and prepared myself this morning to go down for breakfast at 7:30. When I got down I was asked which dink I wanted, and so I asked for thé, au lait, but forgot to add “froid lait”, so a few moments later a teapot and warm milk appeared in front of me.
I started eating and she sat down and had coffee and bread with me. The French habit appears to be to take a piece of bread, dunk it in the coffee and then chew it. It made me long so much for a chocolate ripple or a teddy bear. I saw a map on the wall, pointed out where I came from, where I had travelled and where I was going. Mine hostess said that one of her sons had been in Sydney for the Olympics, with a boat. I didn’t quite understand whether he had travelled there on a boat or had competed in a boat. Then she asked about Australia and I got the laptop and showed her pictures of Australia, the desert, Uluru, dry lakes and family. After that, she showed me a picture on the wall of her family – husband (deceased), six sons and their wives and children. As a result, I didn’t leave until nearly 9.
I had chosen a place which was inland, of a reasonable size and had what looked like interesting country all around it – Angouleme. I set the SatNav into action and headed off. It was about 11:30 when I had to stop, in a little town called Oulmet. First thing was the public toilets – very public, but I had no choice. Second thing was the smell from the local patisserie – again I had no choice. These French have given me an incurable addiction to baguettes. I had a can of Coke Zero (the inside of the car is cool enough that I can drink it) because I had passed recycling bins. I walked back and … you guessed it, recycling for paper, recycling for plastic but NOT for aluminium. Into the rubbish it went.
I headed out and decided that I should stop in an hour and finish the baguette. I pulled over into a rest area, with an information board. On a map of the region, with the roads ending with arrows and the name of the next town, someone with more ability to remember than sense had textad over all the names with “Rome” and then added, “All roads lead to Rome”. While eating, a little boy from a camper next to me (it looked like grandparents with a girl about ten and a boy about four) started playing peekaboo around their vehicle. When I left, he looked so sad I called him and the granfather over and gave him a kangaroo pin. I think the grandfather was more impressed than the child, but they did all wave enthusiastically as I left.
In the early afternoon (about 2, so I had to pay for parking) I arrived in the middle of Angouleme. When I say the middle, I MEAN the MIDDLE. The Tourist Information Centre was right in the centre of town. I circled the square a few times looking for a spot I could get into without trying to reverse park with about four hundred spectators – but ended up around the corner, where the window in a disused shop made it easy to get the car into a very small spot (and the car isn’t large, but with traffic behind, and so many watching and me still being unsure parallel parking on the wrong side, discretion was better). I took the directions from the SatNav for walking and found the centre was just around the corner instead of up the street. After getting the list of chambre d’hotes (try typing that and the spell corrector automatically fixes it, when I really want that spelling), I walked around the town for a little, seeing the suburbs from the citadel of the original town, some of the original town walls and a church. I realised it must be spring with love in the air as there were a few Durex dispensers on walls in the town. Then I headed out and found a Macca’s (with WiFi), got a drink and set up, but the security certificate from the McDonald’s supplier had expired and my laptop wasn’t going to connect until I accepted the new one – but I didn’t realise that until I had a number of fruitless attempts to connect. I got through, and did what I wanted, but took too long to do it.
Back in the car I looked at the available options. I selected likely ones on price, position and location (under €40 per night, fairly close to Angouleme but in a rural area). As luck would have it, the first one I rang was able to take me for four nights (so I can explore the region in different directions each day, and do so until late because I don’t have to worry about where to stay, and then head off on Monday to Bordeaux, and then south to Spain). I kept my fingers crossed because this was sight and reputation unseen, but so far each has been good in its own way and had far more advantages than disadvantages (Formule1 excluded). I found the town but had to get directions to find Chez Jambon. I got there and found it a pleasant room, one single and one double bed, with en suite and TV (though I think I have watched a total of ten hours while away, most in the US and none in England or here – I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms from “The Bill”!).
Once I had confirmed that I was staying for four nights and the time for breakfast, I headed off back to Angouleme. I had to fill the car with diesel (not really, but after one thousand kilometres and half a tank, according to the gauge, I wanted to choose where and when to do it, not have to do it at the last minute. I had seen a different supermarket, Carrefours (which means “crossroads”) opposite McDonald’s, so I went there. Filling up was a pleasant surprise – nearly sixty four miles per gallon from this tank and now just over fifty three miles per gallon overall (alright, for those of you who don’t know real quoted fuel consumption when you see it, the figures are 4.4 and 4.9 litres per hundred kilometres). I can only presume the car is run in now, as the fuel consumption seems to be plateauing.
Then I went into the supermarket. The first thing I should say is this one was different, being a shopping centre under the one roof (and I mean the one roof – it resembled a factory building [metal skin, skillion roof) with shops built inside, except the supermarket). A perfumerie caught my eye – Douglas – and I felt like buying something just to get the receipt. Then into the supermarket and prices here were reasonably good – most food was comparable to Australia or within twenty per cent, and goods were similar in price, given exchange (except my SatNav, which I got for $399 in Australia [and was around for $365] and here was €259 with France and €299 with Western Europe) rates. I resisted temptation (but may not if I visit there again) and left, setting the SatNav to take me directly here (I found it had Chez Jambon in memory).
I unpacked, moved things and me in, wrote up today, processed the photos and then called it quits for the evening.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
23 April
Today I awoke after a much better sleep courtesy of using a pillow with the bolster. Then it was up, prepare and down for breakfast (at 7:30 by the clock there, not by mine. Breakfast was half-laid out, with three places set, so I presume the other must have been for the other guests. From the noise last night, though, I would have said there were two children, not one (the child’s place had a uch smaller cup, drinking chocolate and an egg-cup).
I boiled the jug for my cup of tea and mine hostess arrived before it boiled. She was going out to work in the fields and wouldn’t be back until 8:30, but I thought I would be on my way, so settled my account immediately. I had a leisurely breakfast, including reading the rest of the comic book (with equality of opportunity, the cows were having a hard time laying eggs and the chooks had problems getting milk, let alone being milked), including a good cartoon of everyone having a go painting the tractor. There was also a booklet on the history of the farm; apparently it was retained in the property of a noblewoman after the revolution, but when she went to leave it to her son, the state transferred ownership to another person, presumably one sympathetic to the revolution. The farm had been in the family since the tenth century, but after transfer it was broken up and the current owners have had it now for a few generations.
I finished breakfast, finished packing and left. The others had not risen yet – it seems they are like someone else I know, who thinks that holiday time is a chance to sleep somewhere else, rather than see and do things which are new. I left, setting course for Nantes and trying to avoid main and busy roads.
As luck would have it, because I avoided Blois, I went through the same town this morning as I had last night where the Customs officers were. This morning, at the same place, the road was blocked by gendarmes, and the particular road I wanted to go along was where the car, dog and Gendarme were. I had to detour via Beaufort, so got to see more of the Loire Valley.
Further along I had to make a stop (three cups of tea, large, and two orange juices, medium, tend to go through) and a rest stop appeared. If you look at the photos, you will see how private the facilities provided are. I decided to use the alternative facilities, more private and not open to the road. At this spot I rang about and got accommodation on the coast, just south of St Nazaire.
As I got closer to Nantes, I had seen levee banks (which the road was on, and narrow it was), mixed farms and small vineyards. I had imagined the Loire Valley vineyards to be like Coonawarra or the Barossa, large in extent, so I had to stop when I finally saw some like that.
Then it was into Nantes; time for lunch and to email. I stopped at the closest McDonald’s to my route and … NO WIFI, which I didn’t discover until after I had ordered. I did have the fortune to run into the best English speaker I met in such establishments, and he suggested that I try the shopping centre next door. He had tried to convince the boss to get it on, but been unsuccessful. Another McDonald’s in Nantes has it, but I doubt I will be around to look for it. While I was waiting in line, a family watched me with the laptop and the daughter got the giggles – then when I looked over, having heard it, she blushed and looked away, and the brother looked at me with the expression, girls, what else can you expect? Seems behaviours are the same all over the world.
After finishing lunch, I went over to the shopping centre (only a minute’s walk) to find it had an Orange WiFi, which I could use the remaining credits from the Formule1 fiasco with. I found a set of seats (sumptuous vinyl armchairs) and did my uploading of photos and blog, then checking emails while the photos finished. I can’t believe how slow it was, and groups of schoolchildren “doing the mall” were looking at me with the laptop during their cruises and making comments (but I couldn’t understand them, for although they were muted, they were spoken quickly in French). Finally I finished and headed back to the car, thanking the McDonald’s duty manager and explaining what facilities they actually had in the centre.
The car was warm (it was 18°C outside) so the airconditioner went on. Then it was down to Les Moutiers en-Retz, where I had said I would arrive at 5 p.m. (17 heures). I found the place with n problem (the SatNav is right more often than it is wrong, it remains calm in the face of me driving the wring way and recalculates routes quickly enough that I don’t have to circle roundabouts multiple times – the record is eight, in England in 1980). I went down to the beach, which was only a few minutes away and there were people on the beach and some children in the water (it really wasn’t that warm). I had a look there (the water didn’t look too inviting), then went back to the centre of town. Here, after parking, I watched a game of boules for a few minutes. Just when I went to take a photo, they finished. After a look around there, I went back, met mine hostess for this evening, had a look at the room, got the key and then headed off to St-Nazaire. I found out the home had been the old farm house, so the back yard is big, even by Australian standards, and must be considered huge here.
No problem getting there, across a huge and beautiful bridge, with smooth curves leading to a very large centre span and three traffic lanes (two up, one down) in each direction. It crosses the Loire River, perhaps as wide as three kilometres at its mouth. As I came over the top, I wondered at the peculiar shape of two hotels there, then realised they were ships under construction. They were large and TALL, so I wonder what the capacity of them will be when operating. I looked at the harbour (and the beach), then went north to Le Croisic. Along the way I saw a Citroen Deux Cheval towing a trailer – full! As expected, on a hill it fell back, and just managed to get over the top. What can people expect from these little cars? At Le Croisic I expected to find a sleepy little seaside village and instead it was a place coming alive for the evening. All along the waterfront there were eating places opening up and people promenading (for those unfamiliar with the term, it covers people walking along looking for somewhere to eat, girls walking along looking to get looked at, boys walking in groups hoping the girls walking will notice them and families walking with reluctant children being dragged by the hand) and parking spots were non-existent. I stopped up by the harbour and walked around, but the smell of baguettes and other foods was too enticing (as I had eaten not too long ago) and I decided to return to my writer’s garret (yes, it’s upstairs and only has a small window out, so it qualifies (but the door is fully [double] glazed), unpacked for the night (during the day I had done some shopping and now have five hangers for my shirts, so hung them), settled in, wrote up my blog and transferred photos, charged the camera batteries and then hit the hay. It takes about ten to twenty minutes to transfer, name and shrink the photos, and another hour to write this up, partly because I have to refer to maps and partly because I have to remember what I did.
I boiled the jug for my cup of tea and mine hostess arrived before it boiled. She was going out to work in the fields and wouldn’t be back until 8:30, but I thought I would be on my way, so settled my account immediately. I had a leisurely breakfast, including reading the rest of the comic book (with equality of opportunity, the cows were having a hard time laying eggs and the chooks had problems getting milk, let alone being milked), including a good cartoon of everyone having a go painting the tractor. There was also a booklet on the history of the farm; apparently it was retained in the property of a noblewoman after the revolution, but when she went to leave it to her son, the state transferred ownership to another person, presumably one sympathetic to the revolution. The farm had been in the family since the tenth century, but after transfer it was broken up and the current owners have had it now for a few generations.
I finished breakfast, finished packing and left. The others had not risen yet – it seems they are like someone else I know, who thinks that holiday time is a chance to sleep somewhere else, rather than see and do things which are new. I left, setting course for Nantes and trying to avoid main and busy roads.
As luck would have it, because I avoided Blois, I went through the same town this morning as I had last night where the Customs officers were. This morning, at the same place, the road was blocked by gendarmes, and the particular road I wanted to go along was where the car, dog and Gendarme were. I had to detour via Beaufort, so got to see more of the Loire Valley.
Further along I had to make a stop (three cups of tea, large, and two orange juices, medium, tend to go through) and a rest stop appeared. If you look at the photos, you will see how private the facilities provided are. I decided to use the alternative facilities, more private and not open to the road. At this spot I rang about and got accommodation on the coast, just south of St Nazaire.
As I got closer to Nantes, I had seen levee banks (which the road was on, and narrow it was), mixed farms and small vineyards. I had imagined the Loire Valley vineyards to be like Coonawarra or the Barossa, large in extent, so I had to stop when I finally saw some like that.
Then it was into Nantes; time for lunch and to email. I stopped at the closest McDonald’s to my route and … NO WIFI, which I didn’t discover until after I had ordered. I did have the fortune to run into the best English speaker I met in such establishments, and he suggested that I try the shopping centre next door. He had tried to convince the boss to get it on, but been unsuccessful. Another McDonald’s in Nantes has it, but I doubt I will be around to look for it. While I was waiting in line, a family watched me with the laptop and the daughter got the giggles – then when I looked over, having heard it, she blushed and looked away, and the brother looked at me with the expression, girls, what else can you expect? Seems behaviours are the same all over the world.
After finishing lunch, I went over to the shopping centre (only a minute’s walk) to find it had an Orange WiFi, which I could use the remaining credits from the Formule1 fiasco with. I found a set of seats (sumptuous vinyl armchairs) and did my uploading of photos and blog, then checking emails while the photos finished. I can’t believe how slow it was, and groups of schoolchildren “doing the mall” were looking at me with the laptop during their cruises and making comments (but I couldn’t understand them, for although they were muted, they were spoken quickly in French). Finally I finished and headed back to the car, thanking the McDonald’s duty manager and explaining what facilities they actually had in the centre.
The car was warm (it was 18°C outside) so the airconditioner went on. Then it was down to Les Moutiers en-Retz, where I had said I would arrive at 5 p.m. (17 heures). I found the place with n problem (the SatNav is right more often than it is wrong, it remains calm in the face of me driving the wring way and recalculates routes quickly enough that I don’t have to circle roundabouts multiple times – the record is eight, in England in 1980). I went down to the beach, which was only a few minutes away and there were people on the beach and some children in the water (it really wasn’t that warm). I had a look there (the water didn’t look too inviting), then went back to the centre of town. Here, after parking, I watched a game of boules for a few minutes. Just when I went to take a photo, they finished. After a look around there, I went back, met mine hostess for this evening, had a look at the room, got the key and then headed off to St-Nazaire. I found out the home had been the old farm house, so the back yard is big, even by Australian standards, and must be considered huge here.
No problem getting there, across a huge and beautiful bridge, with smooth curves leading to a very large centre span and three traffic lanes (two up, one down) in each direction. It crosses the Loire River, perhaps as wide as three kilometres at its mouth. As I came over the top, I wondered at the peculiar shape of two hotels there, then realised they were ships under construction. They were large and TALL, so I wonder what the capacity of them will be when operating. I looked at the harbour (and the beach), then went north to Le Croisic. Along the way I saw a Citroen Deux Cheval towing a trailer – full! As expected, on a hill it fell back, and just managed to get over the top. What can people expect from these little cars? At Le Croisic I expected to find a sleepy little seaside village and instead it was a place coming alive for the evening. All along the waterfront there were eating places opening up and people promenading (for those unfamiliar with the term, it covers people walking along looking for somewhere to eat, girls walking along looking to get looked at, boys walking in groups hoping the girls walking will notice them and families walking with reluctant children being dragged by the hand) and parking spots were non-existent. I stopped up by the harbour and walked around, but the smell of baguettes and other foods was too enticing (as I had eaten not too long ago) and I decided to return to my writer’s garret (yes, it’s upstairs and only has a small window out, so it qualifies (but the door is fully [double] glazed), unpacked for the night (during the day I had done some shopping and now have five hangers for my shirts, so hung them), settled in, wrote up my blog and transferred photos, charged the camera batteries and then hit the hay. It takes about ten to twenty minutes to transfer, name and shrink the photos, and another hour to write this up, partly because I have to refer to maps and partly because I have to remember what I did.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
22 April
Ah, after yesterday, anything would be better.
I didn’t sleep quite as well as I expected and realised later it was because I only had a cylindrical pillow and not a “normal” one. I will fix that up later.
I rose reluctantly and got myself ready and was downstairs by 7:30 for breakfast – but found the clock downstairs faster than any of mine and breakfast was set out and there was no-one around.
It was different – bread, a toaster, orange juice, a pot of tea, jams and butter, another large cup and cutlery, but no plate. I realised as I poured the tea out that I had forgotten to specify milk last night, and must remember that in the future. I made my toast and had it with vegemite, then had another with apricot jam. I wondered about looking for milk myself but soon mine hostess returned and I asked, and got, milk.
I asked about the produce of the farm. I had already learned they grow corn and asparagus, and asked about the canola. That is grown as a biofuel – here, E85 is so much cheaper than petrol, almost the same price as it is in Australia, taking into account the different currencies. Then, while finishing breakfast I scanned a cartoon book given by the daughter to the mother about the Common Market. The first one to catch my eye was “35 hour week for all” and the farmer looking pleased and a cow looking puzzled, as how was she going to only work five days a week. There were others, common to GST in Australia, with farmers building new barns, not for produce but to store all the paperwork needed. Even though I couldn’t understand all the text, the expressions on the faces of the farmer and the cow were enough to explain most.
Then up, finish, and leave. I remembered to take the laptop, for although there is a WiFi network around here, I can’t access it. I may ask tomorrow morning, but by then it will be too late.
I headed off and into Blois and then went to meander slowly down the Loire valley. The first thing that struck me was that although this was the last untamed river in France (and most likely in Europe), lack of dams or barrages was the only thing not done to it. Bridges, levees, harbours, pontoons were all very much in evidence. I found I was driving along a levee, which gave me a good view of the river. It was in spate, I suppose from so much rain recently. It also had a lot of rubbish in it, natural or manmade was not obvious. The levees are good to protect from flooding, but much agriculture is done on the far side of the levee. As it no longer floods there, the soil will need fertiliser soon, while on the river side of the levee it gets soil and fertiliser added with each flood (as was happening to some areas as I looked). It was interesting to see houses which had been built before the levee. There was a line around them where a new floor had been added and they were now level with the top of the levee. For some, the area between the levee and the house had been just filled in, while others showed more panache and put archwork in. That now was the front yard and car space.
The valley is quite wide, cut from many years of flow. In a lot of places, the chalk cliffs had been laid bare and eroded back, so the caves were obvious to use as cellars and as homes. Coober Pedy is not the only place where people choose to live underground. However, living here I would choose as high a home in the cliff as possible, as floods are a regular occurrence.
I stopped in a town called Amboise. A spring festival had just finished and carnival rides and other things were being packed up. There were a lot of people around, something I suppose I will have to get used to; I had chosen my trip times to coincide with most people being at work and weather not being the best, but now the weather is improving and, like Australia, the grey nomads are out in force. I walked along the river and back through the town. At the Visitor Centre I was picked again as an English speaker by my accent. I must practise! The smell and sight of bread was just too much and I succumbed to temptation and bought a baguette. The biggest problem (apart from my waist in a few weeks) is getting crumbs all in the car, as I don’t have ready access to cleaning equipment as at home. A cleanout at a car wash, at €18 for inside and out, seems excessive for a few crumbs, especially as I would have to take all my stuff out first. So I ate outside the car and left what was left to eat later when I was outside again.
I headed further down the valley and saw more “cave dwellings”. I also saw some billabongs, but no swagmen or jumbucks. When I pulled up in a little town to finish lunch, there were two children fishing, but pickings must have been lean as they upped stakes and left very soon. I though school had started again, but it must still be holidays for some. I disposed of my first (very full) rubbish bag and set up my second.
As I meandered my way along (the road meandered, the river was fairly straight), I came t the next large town along the river, Angers. I had written some postcards and a letter, so thought an “ANGERS” postmark may be humourous. I parked in the town, near a chateau and the Tourist Information Centre. I visited that first and again, as soon as I said “Bonjour”, I was replied to in English. I got a list of chambres d’hote for further down the river and now can choose places without having to panic. I then headed off to Le Poste, to post the letters (I knew what I was looking for as a letter receiver, but was fooled because they put it inside and hid it beside a photocopier) and to cash my travellers’ cheques. Here, in a large centre, I could cash them all. I now have liquidity (but that will go fairly quickly as I pay for most chambres d’hote with cash (whereas in the US I paid for all accommodation with a credit card)). I also must remember to take the largest amount of cash I can from an ATM as it is costing A$5 each withdrawal – or else take cash from an EFTPOS transaction in a shop, but the last time I tried that the machine didn’t recognise my card.
I walked out of the post office and ran across a series of places (street, abbey, display all with the name of a work colleague – so I couldn’t resist getting that and will send them to Damien. During the day I had seen Rue de Legs (how can legs be rude?) and a few others which are humourous in English but mundane in French.
I went in and had a look at the castle. Inside it is over twenty thousand square metres and it’s right in the centre of the city (naturally, as the city would have grown up around it, for protection apart from other things). Yet with the revolution and loss of the titled class, the castle still exists and is now a valuable historical as well as recreational resource. I am afraid that at home it would have been bulldozed and redeveloped into something inappropriate and shoddily-built, in the name of progress. I hope it, and others like it, continue to exist and provide pleasure for the public.
As I left Angers at about 4:20, I had to make a quick lane change (the SatNav takes time to reorient itself and can give instructions late when first moving from parking). I’m halfway across two lanes waiting to turn left, at a red light, when a police car with two junior officers in the front and a sergeant in the back pulls up right next to me in what is left of that lane. I had to look straight across through their car to see the lights, and kept wondering if the sergeant would so anything to show the juniors he could still do real police work. Two minutes later when the lights changed I was still free, so I breathed a sigh of relief and left.
I headed back to Seuvers via the quickest route, but along the way I realised I would have to refuel. I had done nearly twelve hundred kilometres and I expected the fuel warning light to flicker on. Just before I started to panic, I saw a SuperU and cheaper fuel, so circled the roundabout, got in, refuelled and then drove on with one task off my mind for a few days.
The French have obviously got their heads together with Wyndham Council as roundabouts are not only sprinkled liberally around the countryside, they are growing more numerous each day. The SatNav confused me at one point because the directions didn’t correspond with what was there, but it proved fortuitous as I had seen two vehicles and a load of Customs agents on the road. When I went by again (this time knowing where to go), they were pulling over mobile homes. There must be something going on, but as I’m not reading the papers or watching TV, I won’t know.
Then further down the road, I thought my eyesight was going – a church spire appeared crooked. I photographed it and you can see if my eyesight has gone.
Then I was into Blois and looking for an Internet hotspot (yes, McDonald’s). I got there, did my eating and typing, checked emails (not many) and then headed out for my lodgings. On the way I saw gypsies encamped in a rest spot – caravans and cars nowadays, with the washing hanging between signs and power poles. Crowds must be expected soon as an area was roped off for a car park. I headed in with my gear, found out that to lock the door properly you have to rotate it down to close, up to shut and further up so the key will lock it. As an old dog, I learned a new trick.
I set everything up and did my usual work. Just as I was finishing, I heard others entering. There were boisterous children, then shhs, and soon after quiet, so I’m not sure what nationality they are, but I seem to be the only Australian travelling around here, in the countryside. Perhaps I will meet them at breakfast.
Just before I finish, yesterday I felt back at home. I passed through a town called Moree. The lushness and size convinced me it wasn’t Australia.
And so off to bed.
I didn’t sleep quite as well as I expected and realised later it was because I only had a cylindrical pillow and not a “normal” one. I will fix that up later.
I rose reluctantly and got myself ready and was downstairs by 7:30 for breakfast – but found the clock downstairs faster than any of mine and breakfast was set out and there was no-one around.
It was different – bread, a toaster, orange juice, a pot of tea, jams and butter, another large cup and cutlery, but no plate. I realised as I poured the tea out that I had forgotten to specify milk last night, and must remember that in the future. I made my toast and had it with vegemite, then had another with apricot jam. I wondered about looking for milk myself but soon mine hostess returned and I asked, and got, milk.
I asked about the produce of the farm. I had already learned they grow corn and asparagus, and asked about the canola. That is grown as a biofuel – here, E85 is so much cheaper than petrol, almost the same price as it is in Australia, taking into account the different currencies. Then, while finishing breakfast I scanned a cartoon book given by the daughter to the mother about the Common Market. The first one to catch my eye was “35 hour week for all” and the farmer looking pleased and a cow looking puzzled, as how was she going to only work five days a week. There were others, common to GST in Australia, with farmers building new barns, not for produce but to store all the paperwork needed. Even though I couldn’t understand all the text, the expressions on the faces of the farmer and the cow were enough to explain most.
Then up, finish, and leave. I remembered to take the laptop, for although there is a WiFi network around here, I can’t access it. I may ask tomorrow morning, but by then it will be too late.
I headed off and into Blois and then went to meander slowly down the Loire valley. The first thing that struck me was that although this was the last untamed river in France (and most likely in Europe), lack of dams or barrages was the only thing not done to it. Bridges, levees, harbours, pontoons were all very much in evidence. I found I was driving along a levee, which gave me a good view of the river. It was in spate, I suppose from so much rain recently. It also had a lot of rubbish in it, natural or manmade was not obvious. The levees are good to protect from flooding, but much agriculture is done on the far side of the levee. As it no longer floods there, the soil will need fertiliser soon, while on the river side of the levee it gets soil and fertiliser added with each flood (as was happening to some areas as I looked). It was interesting to see houses which had been built before the levee. There was a line around them where a new floor had been added and they were now level with the top of the levee. For some, the area between the levee and the house had been just filled in, while others showed more panache and put archwork in. That now was the front yard and car space.
The valley is quite wide, cut from many years of flow. In a lot of places, the chalk cliffs had been laid bare and eroded back, so the caves were obvious to use as cellars and as homes. Coober Pedy is not the only place where people choose to live underground. However, living here I would choose as high a home in the cliff as possible, as floods are a regular occurrence.
I stopped in a town called Amboise. A spring festival had just finished and carnival rides and other things were being packed up. There were a lot of people around, something I suppose I will have to get used to; I had chosen my trip times to coincide with most people being at work and weather not being the best, but now the weather is improving and, like Australia, the grey nomads are out in force. I walked along the river and back through the town. At the Visitor Centre I was picked again as an English speaker by my accent. I must practise! The smell and sight of bread was just too much and I succumbed to temptation and bought a baguette. The biggest problem (apart from my waist in a few weeks) is getting crumbs all in the car, as I don’t have ready access to cleaning equipment as at home. A cleanout at a car wash, at €18 for inside and out, seems excessive for a few crumbs, especially as I would have to take all my stuff out first. So I ate outside the car and left what was left to eat later when I was outside again.
I headed further down the valley and saw more “cave dwellings”. I also saw some billabongs, but no swagmen or jumbucks. When I pulled up in a little town to finish lunch, there were two children fishing, but pickings must have been lean as they upped stakes and left very soon. I though school had started again, but it must still be holidays for some. I disposed of my first (very full) rubbish bag and set up my second.
As I meandered my way along (the road meandered, the river was fairly straight), I came t the next large town along the river, Angers. I had written some postcards and a letter, so thought an “ANGERS” postmark may be humourous. I parked in the town, near a chateau and the Tourist Information Centre. I visited that first and again, as soon as I said “Bonjour”, I was replied to in English. I got a list of chambres d’hote for further down the river and now can choose places without having to panic. I then headed off to Le Poste, to post the letters (I knew what I was looking for as a letter receiver, but was fooled because they put it inside and hid it beside a photocopier) and to cash my travellers’ cheques. Here, in a large centre, I could cash them all. I now have liquidity (but that will go fairly quickly as I pay for most chambres d’hote with cash (whereas in the US I paid for all accommodation with a credit card)). I also must remember to take the largest amount of cash I can from an ATM as it is costing A$5 each withdrawal – or else take cash from an EFTPOS transaction in a shop, but the last time I tried that the machine didn’t recognise my card.
I walked out of the post office and ran across a series of places (street, abbey, display all with the name of a work colleague – so I couldn’t resist getting that and will send them to Damien. During the day I had seen Rue de Legs (how can legs be rude?) and a few others which are humourous in English but mundane in French.
I went in and had a look at the castle. Inside it is over twenty thousand square metres and it’s right in the centre of the city (naturally, as the city would have grown up around it, for protection apart from other things). Yet with the revolution and loss of the titled class, the castle still exists and is now a valuable historical as well as recreational resource. I am afraid that at home it would have been bulldozed and redeveloped into something inappropriate and shoddily-built, in the name of progress. I hope it, and others like it, continue to exist and provide pleasure for the public.
As I left Angers at about 4:20, I had to make a quick lane change (the SatNav takes time to reorient itself and can give instructions late when first moving from parking). I’m halfway across two lanes waiting to turn left, at a red light, when a police car with two junior officers in the front and a sergeant in the back pulls up right next to me in what is left of that lane. I had to look straight across through their car to see the lights, and kept wondering if the sergeant would so anything to show the juniors he could still do real police work. Two minutes later when the lights changed I was still free, so I breathed a sigh of relief and left.
I headed back to Seuvers via the quickest route, but along the way I realised I would have to refuel. I had done nearly twelve hundred kilometres and I expected the fuel warning light to flicker on. Just before I started to panic, I saw a SuperU and cheaper fuel, so circled the roundabout, got in, refuelled and then drove on with one task off my mind for a few days.
The French have obviously got their heads together with Wyndham Council as roundabouts are not only sprinkled liberally around the countryside, they are growing more numerous each day. The SatNav confused me at one point because the directions didn’t correspond with what was there, but it proved fortuitous as I had seen two vehicles and a load of Customs agents on the road. When I went by again (this time knowing where to go), they were pulling over mobile homes. There must be something going on, but as I’m not reading the papers or watching TV, I won’t know.
Then further down the road, I thought my eyesight was going – a church spire appeared crooked. I photographed it and you can see if my eyesight has gone.
Then I was into Blois and looking for an Internet hotspot (yes, McDonald’s). I got there, did my eating and typing, checked emails (not many) and then headed out for my lodgings. On the way I saw gypsies encamped in a rest spot – caravans and cars nowadays, with the washing hanging between signs and power poles. Crowds must be expected soon as an area was roped off for a car park. I headed in with my gear, found out that to lock the door properly you have to rotate it down to close, up to shut and further up so the key will lock it. As an old dog, I learned a new trick.
I set everything up and did my usual work. Just as I was finishing, I heard others entering. There were boisterous children, then shhs, and soon after quiet, so I’m not sure what nationality they are, but I seem to be the only Australian travelling around here, in the countryside. Perhaps I will meet them at breakfast.
Just before I finish, yesterday I felt back at home. I passed through a town called Moree. The lushness and size convinced me it wasn’t Australia.
And so off to bed.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
21 April
Well, dear reader, as the writer of Tom Jones would say, what a comedy!
After doing all my writing and photo editing and uploading, I went to go to bed. I immediately thought I was back on a school camp and someone had short-sheeted me. The top sheet came only half-way up the bed. It had been folded over and tucked down the other end, under the covers. So that was the first problem to be overcome. That was simple.
I had hung my jacket up. For those of you unfamiliar with a Formule1 room will have to picture this (because I forgot to take a picture, but I will if I am ever sentenced to such again, though for what Ill at this time escapes me): a double bed with a single over it, at right angles to it; the ladder for the single against the door wall and next to the double bed; hanging space under one end of the single bed; a long and a short fluorescent light next to the head of the double bed at the other end of the singe bed; a small partition between the double bed and the basin (in the corner) and opposite that, a small desk with a TV overhead.
Being neat of nature (stop sniggering), I hung my jacket up. The hanger survived only long enough until I was nearly asleep and then the jacket crashed down. However, children running to the toilets and showers then stopped me slumbering again, but as I became used to the noise, another patron, more forthright, opened his door and yelled at the children to SSHHHH! That was finally overcome but then nature called so, apart from getting dressed to go out, I had to remember to take the receipt with me so I could get back in to my room. Hanging everything up again, I then hit my head on the bottom of the single bed and misjudged the height of the double and ended up crashing down into it. I didn’t want to put the fluorescent on, so had the screen of the laptop as light, and the shadows hid the bed covers.
Eventually I rose. I have forgotten, dear reader, to say that I approached the girl on the desk the evening before for a towel. I thought they had mistakenly given me two bath mats – but no, she said, the towels were petite, and gave me another one. I headed off to have a shower – no shower curtain so it was necessary to place everything carefully to miss getting saturated – and switched the shower on. I started and the shower promptly switched itself off. After repeated goes, I found out you get thirty seconds of water for your shower (unless, like me, you just elbow it every twenty seconds, and get sufficient water but a sore elbow). Using the aforementioned towels, otherwise known as overgrown face washers, the three did get me dry. Now cleaned (and dressed, in case you did not imply that), I went out for my petit dejeuner. Now breakfast was not the only small thing. The pieces of bread to put in the toaster were so small that, after burning, they only ejected high enough to give a tantalizing glimpse of the contained bread and not enough to grasp. Tongs placed nearly were just large enough not to fit in, so a knife had to be used (against all my better training). The burnt bread (I cannot in truth call it toast) then promptly disintegrated while butter, then vegemite, was attempted to be spread on it. I gave up and settled for cornflakes, but then the spoon supplied was smaller than a teaspoon, so it took a long time. I said merci to the girl on the desk and expected Basil Fawlty to come out from somewhere, but he didn’t (be thankful for small mercies). Back in the room I packed, took everything to the car and then left. The only good thing in the whole deal was I could do it on my card.
I headed into Orleans. After that night, what other fate could befall me? The answer came as I inched (sorry, centimetred) my way into Orleans. Every joke I have said about council workers in Australia I take back. Ten vehicles, about twenty men, two excavators, hundreds of traffic cones, working on an area about two square metres (I kid you not because I returned the same way two hours later and the hole was now the full two square metres, with everyone watching and one directing traffic around) but with much more blocked off because of all the vehicles and men.
After taking half an hour to travel four hundred metres (and no, I couldn’t turn off because there wasn’t anywhere to turn, except the Loire on my right and doors on my left) I eventually found a parking spot near the Tourist Information Centre. I parked, paid, walled up, and found … it didn’t open until 10! I went to post a letter, asked a council worker where Le Poste was, got given clear directions and walked up two blocks, then along the mall (which, like Melbourne, has trams running down it, so you have to walk on the footpath – brilliant planning!). Then I eventually found Le Poste and … it didn’t open until 2! I walked back to the Tourist Information Centre, which I found was about one hundred metres from where I was (I could have not gone the tourist route of about one kilometre) and it was now open. Could I have a list of chambre d’hotes for the region please? No, was the reply in clear English, we only have the one copy left, so you will have to read it here and make your selection. Can I have a map of the area, please? Certainly, and then I left.
I went to the next town down the road with a Tourist Information Centre, Meung Sur Loire. Found the Centre, but … it’s closed on Mondays! Off I went to the next town, Blois, hoping I would have success before I hit the coast, hundreds of kilometres away.
Here I was successful. After parking the car (and paying, and finding I didn’t have to, as it was lunchtime), I walked past a luxurious public toilet and sampled its wares. Then I found the Tourist Information Centre and got a list of chambre d’hotes for the region and a map, as was asked for my nationality in clear English. Robert Ritter, if you are listening, my French is really that bad! Going back to the car, I splurged on a chocolate donut. Not wishing to embarrass myself or others, I just pointed to the item in question, paid and got a “Thank you” back. Do I have a sign saying, “English only spoken” like the mark of Cain on my forehead?
Now back in the car, I selected a likely place, on its distance from highways and centralness to the region. Heading there, I called into Le Poste in a small village. I asked, signwise, for a stamp to go on an envelope to Australia, and got the cost given to me in English (memo to self: look carefully for the mark of English on forehead after shower in morning). Success with that emboldened me to ask about a parcel to go to Australia – yes, for seven kilograms (so I will have to pack it carefully) and I got it. I can post it at any post office in France, so may do it on the way back.
I headed out to the farmhouse I had selected (minus one false direction, where the SatNav wanted me to drive across a railway line where there was no crossing) and found it easily, booked in for two nights and then headed off along the Loire, eastwards. After I crossed it, I drove along the D915 and saw cooling towers for a power station (I presume coal, so I will find out at breakfast), shopped at a SuperU (reasonable cheap, especially for their generic brands), saw many canola fields, orchards, vineyards, ploughed fields, growing wheat and maize (corn) and the river a t a few points. Eventually I turned around and headed back. At the McDonald’s in Meung Sur Loire, I had some tea and sent out emails, as well as replying to a few. I also went into Le Leclerc, which is a French version of either a SuperWalMart or a BigW. Note that in France, McDonald’s does not fly a flag, but pennants (in Australia, McDonald’s flies a McDonald’s flag, but has to fly an Australian one sightly higher).
Then it was back to my accommodations. Fortunately, dear reader, the blight with which I had been accursed this late morn, had been lifted from mine ides and I brought my gear up, settled in, did the photo work and penned this journal entry with a thumbnail dipped in tar (now doesn’t that sound better than “typed my blog”, but cleaning the screen after is a real job), did some actual letters and postcard writing and then fell into the arms of Morpheus.
After doing all my writing and photo editing and uploading, I went to go to bed. I immediately thought I was back on a school camp and someone had short-sheeted me. The top sheet came only half-way up the bed. It had been folded over and tucked down the other end, under the covers. So that was the first problem to be overcome. That was simple.
I had hung my jacket up. For those of you unfamiliar with a Formule1 room will have to picture this (because I forgot to take a picture, but I will if I am ever sentenced to such again, though for what Ill at this time escapes me): a double bed with a single over it, at right angles to it; the ladder for the single against the door wall and next to the double bed; hanging space under one end of the single bed; a long and a short fluorescent light next to the head of the double bed at the other end of the singe bed; a small partition between the double bed and the basin (in the corner) and opposite that, a small desk with a TV overhead.
Being neat of nature (stop sniggering), I hung my jacket up. The hanger survived only long enough until I was nearly asleep and then the jacket crashed down. However, children running to the toilets and showers then stopped me slumbering again, but as I became used to the noise, another patron, more forthright, opened his door and yelled at the children to SSHHHH! That was finally overcome but then nature called so, apart from getting dressed to go out, I had to remember to take the receipt with me so I could get back in to my room. Hanging everything up again, I then hit my head on the bottom of the single bed and misjudged the height of the double and ended up crashing down into it. I didn’t want to put the fluorescent on, so had the screen of the laptop as light, and the shadows hid the bed covers.
Eventually I rose. I have forgotten, dear reader, to say that I approached the girl on the desk the evening before for a towel. I thought they had mistakenly given me two bath mats – but no, she said, the towels were petite, and gave me another one. I headed off to have a shower – no shower curtain so it was necessary to place everything carefully to miss getting saturated – and switched the shower on. I started and the shower promptly switched itself off. After repeated goes, I found out you get thirty seconds of water for your shower (unless, like me, you just elbow it every twenty seconds, and get sufficient water but a sore elbow). Using the aforementioned towels, otherwise known as overgrown face washers, the three did get me dry. Now cleaned (and dressed, in case you did not imply that), I went out for my petit dejeuner. Now breakfast was not the only small thing. The pieces of bread to put in the toaster were so small that, after burning, they only ejected high enough to give a tantalizing glimpse of the contained bread and not enough to grasp. Tongs placed nearly were just large enough not to fit in, so a knife had to be used (against all my better training). The burnt bread (I cannot in truth call it toast) then promptly disintegrated while butter, then vegemite, was attempted to be spread on it. I gave up and settled for cornflakes, but then the spoon supplied was smaller than a teaspoon, so it took a long time. I said merci to the girl on the desk and expected Basil Fawlty to come out from somewhere, but he didn’t (be thankful for small mercies). Back in the room I packed, took everything to the car and then left. The only good thing in the whole deal was I could do it on my card.
I headed into Orleans. After that night, what other fate could befall me? The answer came as I inched (sorry, centimetred) my way into Orleans. Every joke I have said about council workers in Australia I take back. Ten vehicles, about twenty men, two excavators, hundreds of traffic cones, working on an area about two square metres (I kid you not because I returned the same way two hours later and the hole was now the full two square metres, with everyone watching and one directing traffic around) but with much more blocked off because of all the vehicles and men.
After taking half an hour to travel four hundred metres (and no, I couldn’t turn off because there wasn’t anywhere to turn, except the Loire on my right and doors on my left) I eventually found a parking spot near the Tourist Information Centre. I parked, paid, walled up, and found … it didn’t open until 10! I went to post a letter, asked a council worker where Le Poste was, got given clear directions and walked up two blocks, then along the mall (which, like Melbourne, has trams running down it, so you have to walk on the footpath – brilliant planning!). Then I eventually found Le Poste and … it didn’t open until 2! I walked back to the Tourist Information Centre, which I found was about one hundred metres from where I was (I could have not gone the tourist route of about one kilometre) and it was now open. Could I have a list of chambre d’hotes for the region please? No, was the reply in clear English, we only have the one copy left, so you will have to read it here and make your selection. Can I have a map of the area, please? Certainly, and then I left.
I went to the next town down the road with a Tourist Information Centre, Meung Sur Loire. Found the Centre, but … it’s closed on Mondays! Off I went to the next town, Blois, hoping I would have success before I hit the coast, hundreds of kilometres away.
Here I was successful. After parking the car (and paying, and finding I didn’t have to, as it was lunchtime), I walked past a luxurious public toilet and sampled its wares. Then I found the Tourist Information Centre and got a list of chambre d’hotes for the region and a map, as was asked for my nationality in clear English. Robert Ritter, if you are listening, my French is really that bad! Going back to the car, I splurged on a chocolate donut. Not wishing to embarrass myself or others, I just pointed to the item in question, paid and got a “Thank you” back. Do I have a sign saying, “English only spoken” like the mark of Cain on my forehead?
Now back in the car, I selected a likely place, on its distance from highways and centralness to the region. Heading there, I called into Le Poste in a small village. I asked, signwise, for a stamp to go on an envelope to Australia, and got the cost given to me in English (memo to self: look carefully for the mark of English on forehead after shower in morning). Success with that emboldened me to ask about a parcel to go to Australia – yes, for seven kilograms (so I will have to pack it carefully) and I got it. I can post it at any post office in France, so may do it on the way back.
I headed out to the farmhouse I had selected (minus one false direction, where the SatNav wanted me to drive across a railway line where there was no crossing) and found it easily, booked in for two nights and then headed off along the Loire, eastwards. After I crossed it, I drove along the D915 and saw cooling towers for a power station (I presume coal, so I will find out at breakfast), shopped at a SuperU (reasonable cheap, especially for their generic brands), saw many canola fields, orchards, vineyards, ploughed fields, growing wheat and maize (corn) and the river a t a few points. Eventually I turned around and headed back. At the McDonald’s in Meung Sur Loire, I had some tea and sent out emails, as well as replying to a few. I also went into Le Leclerc, which is a French version of either a SuperWalMart or a BigW. Note that in France, McDonald’s does not fly a flag, but pennants (in Australia, McDonald’s flies a McDonald’s flag, but has to fly an Australian one sightly higher).
Then it was back to my accommodations. Fortunately, dear reader, the blight with which I had been accursed this late morn, had been lifted from mine ides and I brought my gear up, settled in, did the photo work and penned this journal entry with a thumbnail dipped in tar (now doesn’t that sound better than “typed my blog”, but cleaning the screen after is a real job), did some actual letters and postcard writing and then fell into the arms of Morpheus.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
20 April
After quite a miserable night of a runny nose and sneezing, and therefore getting little sleep, I nevertheless was up and prepared for breakfast at 8. Again, because of the language gap, there were long pauses between intense bouts of conversation.
I finished at 8:30 and did all my packing, then finished my preparations, and after two trips to the car, left. The weather was overcast and it had rained but I hoped it would hold off today. That hope lasted about ten minutes, which was when the first sprinkles of rain came. They continued throughout the day.
I set course to Orleans, but as I didn’t want to travel the motorways, it was going to take me five hours. That was okay, but of course just after I set off I realised that being Sunday, no information centres would be open (unlike Australia, where all would be, yet we get told we are behind everyone else). I considered options and thought that a chain place may be best, to experience it and also because I could get in without a problem.
The drive was through interesting country. The soil went from a deep brown rich loam through to a heavy black soil and then back to light brown (but no chalk). The most common feature was the thickness and lushness of the grass.
One place I went by on the way was Le Mans. Okay, I thought, I’ll have a look there on the way through. Memo to self: check to see what local events are on in towns I pass through. There were literally hundreds of thousands at Le Mans and most were on motorbikes, and they all left at the same time as I came through. Those who left later all overtook me, usually either over double lines, between me and a passing car. One who I thought would have to sit behind me for two hundred metres because of a median strip in a town just went through on the wrong side. Remarkably, all slowed down for the radar cameras, which are liberally sprinkled along the roads.
Finally, after stopping in a town for a comfort break (memo to self: remember that unisex toilets in small town are squat, and best used only if desperate), I arrived on the outskirts of Orleans. Most of my travel in was through Ormes, which must have given rise to the chicken and road crossing jokes, as it had a pedestrian crossing every one hundred metres through the entire two or so kilometres of the town.
Now in Orleans, I found the Tourist Information Centre (yes, closed), but had seen a Formula1 motel on the way in, so decided to give that a go. Seemed reasonable, at €30 a night for the room (would have seemed better if I had more than one in the room, but …) and only €3,90 for breakfast. WiFi internet access too, so it seemed good by now. The only thing is – no en suite. The toilets and showers are down the hall. Okay, can’t have everything, and breakfast is from 5:30, so I can get an early start (only thing is I’m in a city and nothing opens before either 9 or 10). I can pay for the Internet by card when I connect, so that should be all right (warning bells should have started once I saw which hotel chain owned the Formula1 – the last time I stayed in one of their hotels, Internet access cost US$10 for a few hours and I refused to pay it).
Off I went to McDonald’s as there had been no patisserie open along the way that I had passed. Good, no crowds this time. Straight in, but I got the only serving girl in France who can’t either understand or speak French OR English. But I got food before I starved to death.
Sitting and eating, and uploading photos and my blog, and answering two emails, I had a family with a small boy and small girl in the next table area. The boy slid up and down the seat opposite me, looking at the computer. After a while the parents apologised for him, told him off and he went and played in the playground. So then the little girl spilled her drink over the table, then leaned forward into it to make sure she got saturated too. The parents tried to mop everything up (I got more serviettes for them) and then went to leave, but the little girl stood there, hands on hips and wasn’t moving until she got her drink. Finally the parents just left her and walked out, and, deprived of an audience, she went too.
Off I went back into Orleans. I found a place to park (paymant not needed on Sundays) and walked to the cathedral, famous of course because of Joan of Arc. If I thought the roadbuilding in the US was being done to thwart me, here it is cathedral restoration. Every cathedral is being restored and is draped partially in plastic, scaffolding and sheeting. If the middle ages were the golden years for cathedral construction, the early 2000s are the golden age for restoration. Then of course it started to rain. Normally I wouldn’t worry but with this cold, I won’t shake it if I keep getting wet (it’s not that getting cold and wet gives you a cold, it just lowers your resistance to the bugs already in and around you, so you then show all the symptoms). I soldiered on and got photos of the outside of the cathedral and the town area (some of which I hope you see as amusing as I did – people limited to ten kilometres per hour) and also the traffic lights and their repeaters.
Road space is a premium in most towns and so traffic has to occupy as much of a road as possible. So you stop at the traffic lights, not before them. Problem: you can’t see the lights – solution: put little repeaters on the pole, at the height of the driver’s eyes. Bot not everyone realises; it took me a day to grasp this, but today I had to toot some drivers who didn’t react to them either.
Back at the Formula1 (I can’t call it a motel, as it certainly isn’t), I went to connect to the Internet. €4,50 the girl had said. What she omitted to add was that only covered one hour! Macca’s does it free, here €4,50 an hour, at home I pay A$59.95 a month for cable speed and 20 GB download in peak and 40 GB download in off-peak. I can certainly see why France does not have a high Internet usage, but I cannot understand the price. Then again, E85 is only €0.85 a litre, nearly half the cost of petrol – yet only 15% ethanol! By that pricing, E50 should be free!
However the bed seems comfortable enough (I’ll find out in a few minutes) and the room is warm enough. I have a great view of the parking area (but pull-down shutters), a TV (but no programs I really want to watch) and on-call entertainment (I can hear everything from adjoining rooms and along the entire hallway, including the lobby). I do not think I will be hosted by Formula1 again unless I’m desperate.
Three principles compromised today – Macca’s, chain establishment accommodation and paying excessively for the Internet. How low can I go?
I finished at 8:30 and did all my packing, then finished my preparations, and after two trips to the car, left. The weather was overcast and it had rained but I hoped it would hold off today. That hope lasted about ten minutes, which was when the first sprinkles of rain came. They continued throughout the day.
I set course to Orleans, but as I didn’t want to travel the motorways, it was going to take me five hours. That was okay, but of course just after I set off I realised that being Sunday, no information centres would be open (unlike Australia, where all would be, yet we get told we are behind everyone else). I considered options and thought that a chain place may be best, to experience it and also because I could get in without a problem.
The drive was through interesting country. The soil went from a deep brown rich loam through to a heavy black soil and then back to light brown (but no chalk). The most common feature was the thickness and lushness of the grass.
One place I went by on the way was Le Mans. Okay, I thought, I’ll have a look there on the way through. Memo to self: check to see what local events are on in towns I pass through. There were literally hundreds of thousands at Le Mans and most were on motorbikes, and they all left at the same time as I came through. Those who left later all overtook me, usually either over double lines, between me and a passing car. One who I thought would have to sit behind me for two hundred metres because of a median strip in a town just went through on the wrong side. Remarkably, all slowed down for the radar cameras, which are liberally sprinkled along the roads.
Finally, after stopping in a town for a comfort break (memo to self: remember that unisex toilets in small town are squat, and best used only if desperate), I arrived on the outskirts of Orleans. Most of my travel in was through Ormes, which must have given rise to the chicken and road crossing jokes, as it had a pedestrian crossing every one hundred metres through the entire two or so kilometres of the town.
Now in Orleans, I found the Tourist Information Centre (yes, closed), but had seen a Formula1 motel on the way in, so decided to give that a go. Seemed reasonable, at €30 a night for the room (would have seemed better if I had more than one in the room, but …) and only €3,90 for breakfast. WiFi internet access too, so it seemed good by now. The only thing is – no en suite. The toilets and showers are down the hall. Okay, can’t have everything, and breakfast is from 5:30, so I can get an early start (only thing is I’m in a city and nothing opens before either 9 or 10). I can pay for the Internet by card when I connect, so that should be all right (warning bells should have started once I saw which hotel chain owned the Formula1 – the last time I stayed in one of their hotels, Internet access cost US$10 for a few hours and I refused to pay it).
Off I went to McDonald’s as there had been no patisserie open along the way that I had passed. Good, no crowds this time. Straight in, but I got the only serving girl in France who can’t either understand or speak French OR English. But I got food before I starved to death.
Sitting and eating, and uploading photos and my blog, and answering two emails, I had a family with a small boy and small girl in the next table area. The boy slid up and down the seat opposite me, looking at the computer. After a while the parents apologised for him, told him off and he went and played in the playground. So then the little girl spilled her drink over the table, then leaned forward into it to make sure she got saturated too. The parents tried to mop everything up (I got more serviettes for them) and then went to leave, but the little girl stood there, hands on hips and wasn’t moving until she got her drink. Finally the parents just left her and walked out, and, deprived of an audience, she went too.
Off I went back into Orleans. I found a place to park (paymant not needed on Sundays) and walked to the cathedral, famous of course because of Joan of Arc. If I thought the roadbuilding in the US was being done to thwart me, here it is cathedral restoration. Every cathedral is being restored and is draped partially in plastic, scaffolding and sheeting. If the middle ages were the golden years for cathedral construction, the early 2000s are the golden age for restoration. Then of course it started to rain. Normally I wouldn’t worry but with this cold, I won’t shake it if I keep getting wet (it’s not that getting cold and wet gives you a cold, it just lowers your resistance to the bugs already in and around you, so you then show all the symptoms). I soldiered on and got photos of the outside of the cathedral and the town area (some of which I hope you see as amusing as I did – people limited to ten kilometres per hour) and also the traffic lights and their repeaters.
Road space is a premium in most towns and so traffic has to occupy as much of a road as possible. So you stop at the traffic lights, not before them. Problem: you can’t see the lights – solution: put little repeaters on the pole, at the height of the driver’s eyes. Bot not everyone realises; it took me a day to grasp this, but today I had to toot some drivers who didn’t react to them either.
Back at the Formula1 (I can’t call it a motel, as it certainly isn’t), I went to connect to the Internet. €4,50 the girl had said. What she omitted to add was that only covered one hour! Macca’s does it free, here €4,50 an hour, at home I pay A$59.95 a month for cable speed and 20 GB download in peak and 40 GB download in off-peak. I can certainly see why France does not have a high Internet usage, but I cannot understand the price. Then again, E85 is only €0.85 a litre, nearly half the cost of petrol – yet only 15% ethanol! By that pricing, E50 should be free!
However the bed seems comfortable enough (I’ll find out in a few minutes) and the room is warm enough. I have a great view of the parking area (but pull-down shutters), a TV (but no programs I really want to watch) and on-call entertainment (I can hear everything from adjoining rooms and along the entire hallway, including the lobby). I do not think I will be hosted by Formula1 again unless I’m desperate.
Three principles compromised today – Macca’s, chain establishment accommodation and paying excessively for the Internet. How low can I go?
19 April
Although it had rained during the evening, it looked like the sky was clearing as I woke and prepared for the day.
Down at breakfast we undispersed halting conversation with eating and drinking, with me showing mine hostess the new watchband I had fitted yesterday. She asked where I was going today and then asked if I was going to visit Mont St Michel. I said it depended upon the weather. Then it was upstairs, finish, gather the dirty clothes (except, as I realise right now, my trousers – I should have put the other pair on this morning) and head out.
The weather seemed to show patches of blue as I headed north-east to Mont St Michel. The run was good and the roads were clear, until I got nearer. Then the roads became busier and more people appeared, especially on foot. As I crossed the causeway, the road was crowded and the footpath filled with people.
With the large numbers, there were parking marshals as well as a gate attendant. €4 to park the car, then a long walk into the actual mount, then another equally long walk up to the actual abbey. Here it was €8,50 to get in, or another €3 for a guided tour – but I had missed one and the next wasn’t for another hour, so I decided just to walk around.
The abbey is reasonable in size, as is the church; however, as I said before, seeing Amiens spoilt it for all the others. The amazing thing is that all the stone and other building material had to be brought over, and there was no causeway at the time until it was built. Also, because of the time over which the abbey was constructed, there are many different styles in the building. As well as accommodation for its inmates, it also had room for guests.
On the way out I met a man from South Carolina and his daughter. They were over for a week for a school trip, had seen some sights but did not know about the Somme. Another family were just over from England – I suppose it is easy enough to do for a weekend.
I left after midday and saw streams of others just heading in and many tourist buses – inside the Mount is a little village, mainly designed for tourists. Everything was in all languages and there were all services. The Post Office, from which I sent one postcard, shops selling all imaginable souvenirs, food stores of every different type and even toilets (at €0,40 a use). By the way, the comma as a decimal separator is not incorrect typing on my part, that’s what is used here.
I headed into Dinan, as last night I had been told that there was a laundrette here. I went through the town centre, and then back out – and saw it by the side of the street. I marked it in the SatNav and then went to McDonald’s for lunch. There was one just up the road a kilometre or so, and near a supermarket. Bad mistake; memo to self – do NOT go to a McDonald’s in a shopping area on a Saturday in the early afternoon, especially if it shares space with a supermarket AND it’s the last days of the school holidays. It took me nearly twenty minutes to get served, by which time I had uploaded my blogs for yesterday and the day before AND the photos (although by my standards there weren’t many photos). While eating I sent out an email and checked all my incoming email. One was about the second half of my trip, so I will carefully check that itinerary tonight and reply within few days.
After that, which was nearly 2, I returned to the laundrette, put my clothes in and got them washed, then put them in to dry. At well after 3, they should be dry in a few minutes and I will be off.
Alas – I was not thinking straight – I managed to end up with three very clean plastic bags, two shirts not washed and four sets of underwear not washed – and I forgot to change trousers!
I don’t feel too bad though, as the laundrette is no advertisement for front-loaders – not one of my shirts had its collar cleaned properly; even the top loaders in the US could get them looking cleaner, but nothing has come close to my machine at home (except maybe Pat’s). It may be a longer cycle, it may be the detergent I use, but I am now waiting to get home before I can expect clean shirts.
Everything was dry except the socks, so I put them on the back ledge of the car and went off to St Malo. Wonderful beach, a lot of yachts and so many people!
I managed to get some good photos there, then returned to my B&B via a leisurely route and was back by 5:30. I filled out log sheets for the cars I have been using (I got behind at the California coast). The Pontiacs averaged about 31 mpg, the Peugeot about 45 mpg and the Renault so far about 52 mpg, for those of you interested.
At 7:10 I have just caught up with everything.
I think I have a cold, so to bed soon with the heater turned up to see if I can get rid of it.
Down at breakfast we undispersed halting conversation with eating and drinking, with me showing mine hostess the new watchband I had fitted yesterday. She asked where I was going today and then asked if I was going to visit Mont St Michel. I said it depended upon the weather. Then it was upstairs, finish, gather the dirty clothes (except, as I realise right now, my trousers – I should have put the other pair on this morning) and head out.
The weather seemed to show patches of blue as I headed north-east to Mont St Michel. The run was good and the roads were clear, until I got nearer. Then the roads became busier and more people appeared, especially on foot. As I crossed the causeway, the road was crowded and the footpath filled with people.
With the large numbers, there were parking marshals as well as a gate attendant. €4 to park the car, then a long walk into the actual mount, then another equally long walk up to the actual abbey. Here it was €8,50 to get in, or another €3 for a guided tour – but I had missed one and the next wasn’t for another hour, so I decided just to walk around.
The abbey is reasonable in size, as is the church; however, as I said before, seeing Amiens spoilt it for all the others. The amazing thing is that all the stone and other building material had to be brought over, and there was no causeway at the time until it was built. Also, because of the time over which the abbey was constructed, there are many different styles in the building. As well as accommodation for its inmates, it also had room for guests.
On the way out I met a man from South Carolina and his daughter. They were over for a week for a school trip, had seen some sights but did not know about the Somme. Another family were just over from England – I suppose it is easy enough to do for a weekend.
I left after midday and saw streams of others just heading in and many tourist buses – inside the Mount is a little village, mainly designed for tourists. Everything was in all languages and there were all services. The Post Office, from which I sent one postcard, shops selling all imaginable souvenirs, food stores of every different type and even toilets (at €0,40 a use). By the way, the comma as a decimal separator is not incorrect typing on my part, that’s what is used here.
I headed into Dinan, as last night I had been told that there was a laundrette here. I went through the town centre, and then back out – and saw it by the side of the street. I marked it in the SatNav and then went to McDonald’s for lunch. There was one just up the road a kilometre or so, and near a supermarket. Bad mistake; memo to self – do NOT go to a McDonald’s in a shopping area on a Saturday in the early afternoon, especially if it shares space with a supermarket AND it’s the last days of the school holidays. It took me nearly twenty minutes to get served, by which time I had uploaded my blogs for yesterday and the day before AND the photos (although by my standards there weren’t many photos). While eating I sent out an email and checked all my incoming email. One was about the second half of my trip, so I will carefully check that itinerary tonight and reply within few days.
After that, which was nearly 2, I returned to the laundrette, put my clothes in and got them washed, then put them in to dry. At well after 3, they should be dry in a few minutes and I will be off.
Alas – I was not thinking straight – I managed to end up with three very clean plastic bags, two shirts not washed and four sets of underwear not washed – and I forgot to change trousers!
I don’t feel too bad though, as the laundrette is no advertisement for front-loaders – not one of my shirts had its collar cleaned properly; even the top loaders in the US could get them looking cleaner, but nothing has come close to my machine at home (except maybe Pat’s). It may be a longer cycle, it may be the detergent I use, but I am now waiting to get home before I can expect clean shirts.
Everything was dry except the socks, so I put them on the back ledge of the car and went off to St Malo. Wonderful beach, a lot of yachts and so many people!
I managed to get some good photos there, then returned to my B&B via a leisurely route and was back by 5:30. I filled out log sheets for the cars I have been using (I got behind at the California coast). The Pontiacs averaged about 31 mpg, the Peugeot about 45 mpg and the Renault so far about 52 mpg, for those of you interested.
At 7:10 I have just caught up with everything.
I think I have a cold, so to bed soon with the heater turned up to see if I can get rid of it.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
18 April
An interesting day in many ways – not the least as it was my birthday.
I rose at 7:30 as I only had to go downstairs for breakfast and the weather seemed to be rather wet. After the usual preparations I went down to find mine hostess ready for me, showing me into the dining room. This looked like out of a medieval novel, with paintings on the wall and a long table with places at each end. However, different from the others, she sat down and had breakfast with me. Here, today, it was a croissant (warmed), two rolls (one Vegemite, one jam), two glasses of orange juice and two enormous cups of tea. While trying to get through all this without indigestion, I found out (no difficult feat as no-one here speaks English) she has two sons and a daughter, and the oldest son is a pharmacist. The farm is a dairy farm and has been in the family for many generations, uses a rotary milking shed and nearly the same techniques for feeding as in Australia. There is no water shortage here, but in the south of France there is.
Then I left, finished and headed out. My watchband had broken during the night so I needed either repair or replacement quickly. In the town nearby (Broon), I found a watchmaker, but her didn’t open until 9:30. In the meantime I went to a supermarket and bought some menthol lollies (I have a cold and want t get rid of it quickly). Back in the square performers were setting up and there was a car which was being raffled. I went into the jewellers, he pronounced the watchband dead on arrival and I got a new one (€36), which looked very much like the one the watch first had (forty years ago).
The weather was still showering at this time, so I held out hopes for clearing and I went north to the coastal area. Here, between St Malo and Dinard, I happened upon a tidal power station, so looked through that and then was captivated by small boats passing through the lock. When I finally left, it was nearly noon and still cold, blustery and raining.
I headed off to Brest, the westernmost seaport on the French coast, and went there via side roads. Interesting things I observed were that some cars sported big As on the back window (I think it is like our P plates, for new drivers); that the soil here is dark brown and loamy, not like the chalk soil in the Somme; that French drivers also slow down for radar and then speed up again; that you have to be tolerant and permit overtaking drivers leeway otherwise they never get past tractors with large trailers; that French baguettes are too much for me and I have to resist temptation (I did today); that the little traffic lights on poles are there because when you stop at the front of the queue, you can’t see the large ones and that white houses stand stark against their old neighbours. Houses in disrepair showed wattle and daub walls or stone infilled with dirt.
In Brest the weather was no better, the traffic heavy and nothing grabbed me. There was an oceanarium, but seeing the countryside and talking to the locals is more interesting to me. After looking around (driving in the cities is easier than the country because you can just follow the car in front, and don’t worry when you get tooted or yelled at, as everyone does, irrespective of driving habits and abilities – and pedestrians jump out of the way when they are in the wrong and don’t answer back) I headed out and returned a different way.
One habit here which I have just seen is a life-sized cutout, in black with a red slash across the head, and a date on the front, which I believe is where there have been fatalities. It contrasts with the best ones in the US where there is a sign to “Drive Carefully”, Don’t Speed”, “Don’t Drink and Drive” and underneath a small sign “In memory of” and the name of those who I died there.
I came back through Rennes and a road sign, NANNES ANGERS LE MANS, an exit, really took my fancy (what had Nannes done?). I also noticed many families returning from holidays (bored children in the back, looking around) by car while many looked to be taking the last chance and heading out of Rennes for the weekend.
Other interesting observations: squat toilets at rest areas; urinals in public toilets in the public area; few roadside toilets but many just stopping and using the roadside anyway; trucks only have one tyre each side on the trailers, but do have three axles; trucks are limited to 90 km/hr on the divided roads which are not motorways; I have learned to cut in and out quickly, a necessity when there isn’t much roadway to be shared and costs of most foodstuffs is very high. For those interested, most costs (fuel, food, accommodation, clothes, electrical goods) are the same in Euros as I would expect to pay in Australia in dollars, but a dollar is only worth about half a Euro.
When I returned to my accommodation (a farmhouse, which if the weather clears, I will get a photo of), I backed up some files to DVD, did the usual and then finally went to bed to see if I can get rid of this cold.
Before I did, I went downstairs with the laptop and a map of Australia and spoke with the family about Australia, showed them some photos, and then I talked with the son about farming here and in Australia. He had a reasonable command of English, and with my French and writing things (pronunciations are different), we understood each other quite well. It was after 11 by the time I got back to my room and to bed.
I rose at 7:30 as I only had to go downstairs for breakfast and the weather seemed to be rather wet. After the usual preparations I went down to find mine hostess ready for me, showing me into the dining room. This looked like out of a medieval novel, with paintings on the wall and a long table with places at each end. However, different from the others, she sat down and had breakfast with me. Here, today, it was a croissant (warmed), two rolls (one Vegemite, one jam), two glasses of orange juice and two enormous cups of tea. While trying to get through all this without indigestion, I found out (no difficult feat as no-one here speaks English) she has two sons and a daughter, and the oldest son is a pharmacist. The farm is a dairy farm and has been in the family for many generations, uses a rotary milking shed and nearly the same techniques for feeding as in Australia. There is no water shortage here, but in the south of France there is.
Then I left, finished and headed out. My watchband had broken during the night so I needed either repair or replacement quickly. In the town nearby (Broon), I found a watchmaker, but her didn’t open until 9:30. In the meantime I went to a supermarket and bought some menthol lollies (I have a cold and want t get rid of it quickly). Back in the square performers were setting up and there was a car which was being raffled. I went into the jewellers, he pronounced the watchband dead on arrival and I got a new one (€36), which looked very much like the one the watch first had (forty years ago).
The weather was still showering at this time, so I held out hopes for clearing and I went north to the coastal area. Here, between St Malo and Dinard, I happened upon a tidal power station, so looked through that and then was captivated by small boats passing through the lock. When I finally left, it was nearly noon and still cold, blustery and raining.
I headed off to Brest, the westernmost seaport on the French coast, and went there via side roads. Interesting things I observed were that some cars sported big As on the back window (I think it is like our P plates, for new drivers); that the soil here is dark brown and loamy, not like the chalk soil in the Somme; that French drivers also slow down for radar and then speed up again; that you have to be tolerant and permit overtaking drivers leeway otherwise they never get past tractors with large trailers; that French baguettes are too much for me and I have to resist temptation (I did today); that the little traffic lights on poles are there because when you stop at the front of the queue, you can’t see the large ones and that white houses stand stark against their old neighbours. Houses in disrepair showed wattle and daub walls or stone infilled with dirt.
In Brest the weather was no better, the traffic heavy and nothing grabbed me. There was an oceanarium, but seeing the countryside and talking to the locals is more interesting to me. After looking around (driving in the cities is easier than the country because you can just follow the car in front, and don’t worry when you get tooted or yelled at, as everyone does, irrespective of driving habits and abilities – and pedestrians jump out of the way when they are in the wrong and don’t answer back) I headed out and returned a different way.
One habit here which I have just seen is a life-sized cutout, in black with a red slash across the head, and a date on the front, which I believe is where there have been fatalities. It contrasts with the best ones in the US where there is a sign to “Drive Carefully”, Don’t Speed”, “Don’t Drink and Drive” and underneath a small sign “In memory of” and the name of those who I died there.
I came back through Rennes and a road sign, NANNES ANGERS LE MANS, an exit, really took my fancy (what had Nannes done?). I also noticed many families returning from holidays (bored children in the back, looking around) by car while many looked to be taking the last chance and heading out of Rennes for the weekend.
Other interesting observations: squat toilets at rest areas; urinals in public toilets in the public area; few roadside toilets but many just stopping and using the roadside anyway; trucks only have one tyre each side on the trailers, but do have three axles; trucks are limited to 90 km/hr on the divided roads which are not motorways; I have learned to cut in and out quickly, a necessity when there isn’t much roadway to be shared and costs of most foodstuffs is very high. For those interested, most costs (fuel, food, accommodation, clothes, electrical goods) are the same in Euros as I would expect to pay in Australia in dollars, but a dollar is only worth about half a Euro.
When I returned to my accommodation (a farmhouse, which if the weather clears, I will get a photo of), I backed up some files to DVD, did the usual and then finally went to bed to see if I can get rid of this cold.
Before I did, I went downstairs with the laptop and a map of Australia and spoke with the family about Australia, showed them some photos, and then I talked with the son about farming here and in Australia. He had a reasonable command of English, and with my French and writing things (pronunciations are different), we understood each other quite well. It was after 11 by the time I got back to my room and to bed.
17 April
And so my sojourn at the Ferme de Cleuf Nois was at an end. I woke a little earlier (the quiet in the country makes me sleep fitfully after so many years of noise) and was down for breakfast at 8, having done some packing between dressing and going down.
I gleaned that the farm was a dairy farm (though the odours sort of gave it away) and started in on my repast. As I was struggling to get the baguette down, another person came in, but there were only three altogether overnight. After I finished getting what they surely considered a poor effort of a breakfast down, I paid for my stay (€60) and said my farewell. I finished packing and was off a few minutes later.
I headed south-west and was soon back into the rhythm of driving again. I decided that I would see about cashing some travellers’ cheques (according to the Internet and Amex, Le Poste would cash them for no commission, so I decided to try that.
I called in at a seaside town, Carteret, where I could park (and find the toilets) only to find parking was at a premium because it was market day. The markets occupy the largest open parking space in the town, so parking becomes hard to find and difficult to keep. I chose a small town because service is usually far better there. So into Le Poste and … they couldn’t cash any. But, I was told, the next town along could. Problem: even though it was only two kilometres away, it was bigger and parking more difficult to find. I found a tourist bureau, but then realised I was in the same area – no new list of chambres d’hote! Then off to find the Post Office, couldn’t see it, found a town map and then realised I was standing outside it. In and the saga began. No, can’t cash them. But, ask another and yes, but only €200. I settled for that, and then it took a time and a lot of paperwork to get the cash. The problem is that I can only find a bank that will cash them via the Internet, so I have to know which town I will be in at a later date. If I choose too big a town, parking is difficult or impossible, and if I choose too small a town, there won’t be a commission-free bank. I can use an ATM, but then there will be a withdrawal cost and I don’t know at the time what the exchange rate is.
So I headed out, €200 richer and with a lot of experience. I was driving next to the sea and the Channel Islands were to my right (west). Then I decided that I had better aim for Brittany now if I was going to get there, find accommodation and be settled for the night.
The drive along was good. The land became far more undulating and the fertiliser used on the farms far more odiferous (i.e. it stank!). I also had to get some DVDs to burn photos to, as I am running out of room on the laptop again, but every time I saw a supermarket I had already gone by.
I passed by another small town, so pulled in to get a baguette for lunch (I’m converted, let me live on bread and water as long as it is French bread). After an amusing banter about my poor French again, as I left I saw a Gendarme leaving, so asked him how they differed from the police. National and military was the answer, so I presume the police work under the Napoleonic Code, while the Gendarmerie work under military code and therefore attend to matters relating to civil security rather than crime. He was very pleasant, but his command of English equalled my command of French (and it also shows that you can teach everyone English, but not everyone will learn it).
I then headed west until I hit the major town of Lannion. The fuel gauge had begun beeping at me, so I stopped at a Total service station only to be told the pumps weren’t working. I went out, this time tentatively, as I didn’t want to run out of diesel. Unlike petrol, where the current electric pumps will just pick up the new petrol in the tank, in a diesel if the pump runs dry, it has to be primed and is far more difficult (and something I do not want to become expert in). Just along the road I found, on my way into town, a supermarket with its own fuel station. The diesel was nearly ten Eurocents a litre cheaper, so that wasn’t too bad. Here the system was simple – you filled up and then were funnelled past the payment office, where from your car you paid. Then it was over to the supermarket.
Here life became interesting. I found the DVDs and made a selection which I hope will be okay. No sooner had I finished than a little girl asked me to get a CD from the top of a display. I got it, but had to get her to indicate which one. I then said I didn’t speak French too well, but she just said “Thank you”, in French of course, and went off. At the checkout I spoke to a couple who had been to Australia (twice, including Melbourne, Sydney, Cairns, the Great Barrier Reef and Darwin). Then I couldn’t get my credit card to work (strange, as it had worked not fifty metres away and not five minutes earlier), so I had to use cash, a strange thing for me under the circumstances (and which I really didn’t want to use, as most chambres d’hote only take cash).
Down in the town I found the location of the tourist bureau, but again it was market day so I had to find a parking spot. The free car park was full, so I went to the paid one (paymant). Luckily for me, the season hadn’t started yet, so the machines weren’t working and the boom gates weren’t there. I found the tourist bureau (not a visitor information centre, and there is a distinction – the latter have nearly all free information and only a few displays of material for sale, while the former have a lot for sale and work on getting people to spend money in some way.
I got my list of chambres d’hote, walked around a little (was spoken to by some local lads and lasses, interested by my poor accent (bonjour) and then more interested when they found out I was Australian, but that fascination disappeared when I said I was an ex-maths teacher. It seems one constant over the world is that the average student doesn’t like maths, and isn’t afraid to say so. Off I went, back to the car, and started to ring to find accommodation (this was about 4:30). My first few tries went unanswered. Then I got answers, but nothing for tonight. Then the penny (centime) dropped – it was the second-last day of the school holidays and everyone and his/her children were in the Brittany area (nice beaches, nice weather) and of course it was going to be difficult to find accommodation – two days’ time and the story would be different. By 5 I gave up and headed off to McDonald’s, to both kill time until more would be home and to post yesterday’s photos and blog (and to check up on email).
In McDonald’s I had to wait as the people two in front of me couldn’t be understood. I found it funny because I could get my order through nearly as quickly as the locals. Then it was set up, start transferring the photos, post the blog and then check emails while the photos were going (they take about ten seconds a photo at the reduced size I post them). Then I could actually eat. I did try to see if I could find the location of Blood Banks, but of course I got no hits (I used Red Cross instead of Rouge Croix).
After I had finished I went out to telephone again. On the fourth try I got success, then realised it was over an hour away (but centrally located for me, as I can explore the three coasts from the middle and not have to worry about finding somewhere to stay, but now I need to find somewhere to do laundry, within five days). I set out and got there within an hour and a half, and decided the place was nice enough to stay three nights. The only problem is it takes a long time to get any message through each way. I got my material and headed up (each seems to be up) to my new room, decked out completely in pink (it’s meant for a family, with a small pink bed in the corner for a little girl – boys have to suffer!). After getting settled, I wrote my blog, then went to sleep.
I gleaned that the farm was a dairy farm (though the odours sort of gave it away) and started in on my repast. As I was struggling to get the baguette down, another person came in, but there were only three altogether overnight. After I finished getting what they surely considered a poor effort of a breakfast down, I paid for my stay (€60) and said my farewell. I finished packing and was off a few minutes later.
I headed south-west and was soon back into the rhythm of driving again. I decided that I would see about cashing some travellers’ cheques (according to the Internet and Amex, Le Poste would cash them for no commission, so I decided to try that.
I called in at a seaside town, Carteret, where I could park (and find the toilets) only to find parking was at a premium because it was market day. The markets occupy the largest open parking space in the town, so parking becomes hard to find and difficult to keep. I chose a small town because service is usually far better there. So into Le Poste and … they couldn’t cash any. But, I was told, the next town along could. Problem: even though it was only two kilometres away, it was bigger and parking more difficult to find. I found a tourist bureau, but then realised I was in the same area – no new list of chambres d’hote! Then off to find the Post Office, couldn’t see it, found a town map and then realised I was standing outside it. In and the saga began. No, can’t cash them. But, ask another and yes, but only €200. I settled for that, and then it took a time and a lot of paperwork to get the cash. The problem is that I can only find a bank that will cash them via the Internet, so I have to know which town I will be in at a later date. If I choose too big a town, parking is difficult or impossible, and if I choose too small a town, there won’t be a commission-free bank. I can use an ATM, but then there will be a withdrawal cost and I don’t know at the time what the exchange rate is.
So I headed out, €200 richer and with a lot of experience. I was driving next to the sea and the Channel Islands were to my right (west). Then I decided that I had better aim for Brittany now if I was going to get there, find accommodation and be settled for the night.
The drive along was good. The land became far more undulating and the fertiliser used on the farms far more odiferous (i.e. it stank!). I also had to get some DVDs to burn photos to, as I am running out of room on the laptop again, but every time I saw a supermarket I had already gone by.
I passed by another small town, so pulled in to get a baguette for lunch (I’m converted, let me live on bread and water as long as it is French bread). After an amusing banter about my poor French again, as I left I saw a Gendarme leaving, so asked him how they differed from the police. National and military was the answer, so I presume the police work under the Napoleonic Code, while the Gendarmerie work under military code and therefore attend to matters relating to civil security rather than crime. He was very pleasant, but his command of English equalled my command of French (and it also shows that you can teach everyone English, but not everyone will learn it).
I then headed west until I hit the major town of Lannion. The fuel gauge had begun beeping at me, so I stopped at a Total service station only to be told the pumps weren’t working. I went out, this time tentatively, as I didn’t want to run out of diesel. Unlike petrol, where the current electric pumps will just pick up the new petrol in the tank, in a diesel if the pump runs dry, it has to be primed and is far more difficult (and something I do not want to become expert in). Just along the road I found, on my way into town, a supermarket with its own fuel station. The diesel was nearly ten Eurocents a litre cheaper, so that wasn’t too bad. Here the system was simple – you filled up and then were funnelled past the payment office, where from your car you paid. Then it was over to the supermarket.
Here life became interesting. I found the DVDs and made a selection which I hope will be okay. No sooner had I finished than a little girl asked me to get a CD from the top of a display. I got it, but had to get her to indicate which one. I then said I didn’t speak French too well, but she just said “Thank you”, in French of course, and went off. At the checkout I spoke to a couple who had been to Australia (twice, including Melbourne, Sydney, Cairns, the Great Barrier Reef and Darwin). Then I couldn’t get my credit card to work (strange, as it had worked not fifty metres away and not five minutes earlier), so I had to use cash, a strange thing for me under the circumstances (and which I really didn’t want to use, as most chambres d’hote only take cash).
Down in the town I found the location of the tourist bureau, but again it was market day so I had to find a parking spot. The free car park was full, so I went to the paid one (paymant). Luckily for me, the season hadn’t started yet, so the machines weren’t working and the boom gates weren’t there. I found the tourist bureau (not a visitor information centre, and there is a distinction – the latter have nearly all free information and only a few displays of material for sale, while the former have a lot for sale and work on getting people to spend money in some way.
I got my list of chambres d’hote, walked around a little (was spoken to by some local lads and lasses, interested by my poor accent (bonjour) and then more interested when they found out I was Australian, but that fascination disappeared when I said I was an ex-maths teacher. It seems one constant over the world is that the average student doesn’t like maths, and isn’t afraid to say so. Off I went, back to the car, and started to ring to find accommodation (this was about 4:30). My first few tries went unanswered. Then I got answers, but nothing for tonight. Then the penny (centime) dropped – it was the second-last day of the school holidays and everyone and his/her children were in the Brittany area (nice beaches, nice weather) and of course it was going to be difficult to find accommodation – two days’ time and the story would be different. By 5 I gave up and headed off to McDonald’s, to both kill time until more would be home and to post yesterday’s photos and blog (and to check up on email).
In McDonald’s I had to wait as the people two in front of me couldn’t be understood. I found it funny because I could get my order through nearly as quickly as the locals. Then it was set up, start transferring the photos, post the blog and then check emails while the photos were going (they take about ten seconds a photo at the reduced size I post them). Then I could actually eat. I did try to see if I could find the location of Blood Banks, but of course I got no hits (I used Red Cross instead of Rouge Croix).
After I had finished I went out to telephone again. On the fourth try I got success, then realised it was over an hour away (but centrally located for me, as I can explore the three coasts from the middle and not have to worry about finding somewhere to stay, but now I need to find somewhere to do laundry, within five days). I set out and got there within an hour and a half, and decided the place was nice enough to stay three nights. The only problem is it takes a long time to get any message through each way. I got my material and headed up (each seems to be up) to my new room, decked out completely in pink (it’s meant for a family, with a small pink bed in the corner for a little girl – boys have to suffer!). After getting settled, I wrote my blog, then went to sleep.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
16 April
Today was a sleep-in of sorts, although I find that I wake about 5 no matter what – it is just whether I can get back to sleep, and today was one day when I could not. The view out the window is of trees in blossom – spring has sprung!
Eventually I rose at 7:30 and despite taking time preparing, I was still down at 7:55 and found the dining room open. I selected a table for one, on the assumption all the others were together in one way or another. There is a photo of the prepared table in today’s pictures.
After working my way through part of my breakfast (and having Vegemite on a roll), I gave up and had to call it quits and went up to my room to finish preparing. I did find out the farmhouse is over four hundred years old. Only one other person, also on their own, was down to breakfast before I left.
I headed into Bayeux and decided I would see the tapestry. Finding where it was was no problem, but finding a parking spot where the car didn’t look as if it would be a casualty to the first delivery van was. I eventually found one and walked back to the museum where the tapestry is housed. I paid for my entry and the girl asked in English what my nationality was. I asked what gave me away, as I spoke to her in French and she said the terrible accent. Ah well, I suppose over forty years since I did French must mean my accent has not got better.
The tapestry itself is a wonder, huge (over seventy metres long and about half a metre high) and a record of someone’s view of history at the time. It is a very detailed work and only by protecting it from light will it survive (hence no photography). It took me nearly twenty minutes to walk along it, listening to a recorded summary of the contents. Then there was a museum with further explanation and models, and finally a video with more explanation, alternating between French and English. In the cinema I met a Canadian couple, he from Vancouver and her from England.
After the video I went out and found myself in school groups, some English, some French. By the comments and actions, many of them seemed that, like for any school excursion, they were going to show they were bored and didn’t want to be there. However, given the nature and significance of it, I think it was mostly show.
Walking back to the car, I saw a waterwheel still turning. I called into the cathedral and looked around there, as the tapestry, during some stages of its life, was regularly shown by hanging it around the inside of the cathedral. It was a magnificent building, but I suppose if I was giving advice on cathedral viewing, it would be to see Amiens last, as otherwise all others are going to seem lesser buildings.
In the car I headed off to Cherbourg. Once there, it was a city bustling and getting ready for the influx of tourists and holiday-makers. The fortifications in the harbour were very visible, but they are so large and extensive that to photograph them really is a video task.
I headed up to the coast and called into a bay (whose name at the moment I cannot recall). Here the evidence of German emplacements was still very visible, as was the erosion in the cliffs. I helped a girl who dropped picnic supplies (the group had just had lunch, while I was still munching on yesterday’s baguette) and found out she was with geology students observing the cliffs and their structure. She spoke excellent English and was very interested to know where I was from in Australia.
I was still on my way down to the beach when I spoke to a couple from England. There were elderly and driving a right-hand-drive car. The wife doesn’t drive and didn’t like seeing the cars so close, but the husband was used to it. I found out from them that the island visible only a short distance away was Alderney, one of the Channel Islands (British). Then I managed to make my way down and got some interesting views. Coming back there were two families with three small children (remember it’s school holidays here). The parents were trying to stop the children from playing in a small stream – faint hope!
I went further up the cliff and got some other shots of the beach (they are little bays, indented as along any coastline, with headlands separating them, but some beaches are pebbles while some are sand), then headed off to the capes. Here it was a reasonable walk but beautiful views.
I headed back along the coast, wanting to see a sample of the Normandy landing beaches. I called in at Grandcamp-Maisy and got information from the Tourist Bureau, including detailed maps of the beaches area, an explanation of “Rappell” on speed signs (“continued”) and yet another comment on my poor French and the guide spoke only in English to me. When he heard I was Australian, he got further information out for me (which means a bigger postage bill home). In the town, the arrows on the road said one thing, but I was able to drive down the beachfront (but not once the tourist season starts). I looked at Utah Beach, and the reason for choosing it was obvious – most other places were small or rocky, but this was expansive, flat and sandy. After that it was to the American Rangers memorial at Pointe Du Hoc. The defences are still there, though most are blown apart, and the shell holes are huge. It is difficult to imagine scaling cliffs even today, and trying to take the position, but it was done.
I went on to Omaha Beach. It seems incongruous to have such names in the French coastal areas, but I suppose it is a way of remembering each day what happened. Omaha Beach is a long and wide expanse of sand, and while ideal for landing, it also was ideal for defending, with high vantage points from which to shoot with impunity.
By this stage I was sort of “warred” out, so I set a course for McDonald’s in Bayeux, a contradiction if ever there was one. But I was desperate for Internet, and one has needs one has to fulfil. Once in there I ordered my meal (with my self-confidence getting yet another blow when after two words in French, the girl on the counter spoke to me in English) and set up the laptop, uploading all the pictures, my two blogs, checking and answering my email (I got a very nice reply from the family I met at Pozieres), finding out where I could cash my Amex cheques (the Post Office, apparently) and the current rate of exchange (about A$1 to €0,5318, so my Big Mac meal at €6,20 cost me over A$10).
Then it was back to my lodgings and as I pulled up, a little boy (different from yesterday’s) rushed up, opened the car door, looked at me, gulped and said “Pardon”, and then rushed away. He was obviously expecting someone and it wasn’t me. Then it was up to my room, set things up, transfer the photos from today over, try and back some up to DVD (I’m running out of room again, but I now need more DVDs), write today’s blog and then get to bed.
Some other things I remembered today and had forgotten in the meantime were:
At the Newfoundland memorial, I asked one of the Canadian guides who spoke with a French accent why signs in Canada had Arretet on them, but here they had Stop. She said the Canadian was pure French, but that the French had given in.
Then I heard another Canadian, in answer to a question (she was bilingual), say that when she spoke in French, she also thought in French – but when she spoke in English, she thought in English. I suppose that is what young children, who learn a number of languages at once while growing up, do without realising.
I have also now seen a farmhouse being built – of concrete brick, but skinned with old brick, so that when finished it will look old. I also have noticed many detached houses, on large blocks, just like in Australia. The problem is that they are taking productive farmland for these houses – again just like in Australia. When will priorities get sorted out?
Eventually I rose at 7:30 and despite taking time preparing, I was still down at 7:55 and found the dining room open. I selected a table for one, on the assumption all the others were together in one way or another. There is a photo of the prepared table in today’s pictures.
After working my way through part of my breakfast (and having Vegemite on a roll), I gave up and had to call it quits and went up to my room to finish preparing. I did find out the farmhouse is over four hundred years old. Only one other person, also on their own, was down to breakfast before I left.
I headed into Bayeux and decided I would see the tapestry. Finding where it was was no problem, but finding a parking spot where the car didn’t look as if it would be a casualty to the first delivery van was. I eventually found one and walked back to the museum where the tapestry is housed. I paid for my entry and the girl asked in English what my nationality was. I asked what gave me away, as I spoke to her in French and she said the terrible accent. Ah well, I suppose over forty years since I did French must mean my accent has not got better.
The tapestry itself is a wonder, huge (over seventy metres long and about half a metre high) and a record of someone’s view of history at the time. It is a very detailed work and only by protecting it from light will it survive (hence no photography). It took me nearly twenty minutes to walk along it, listening to a recorded summary of the contents. Then there was a museum with further explanation and models, and finally a video with more explanation, alternating between French and English. In the cinema I met a Canadian couple, he from Vancouver and her from England.
After the video I went out and found myself in school groups, some English, some French. By the comments and actions, many of them seemed that, like for any school excursion, they were going to show they were bored and didn’t want to be there. However, given the nature and significance of it, I think it was mostly show.
Walking back to the car, I saw a waterwheel still turning. I called into the cathedral and looked around there, as the tapestry, during some stages of its life, was regularly shown by hanging it around the inside of the cathedral. It was a magnificent building, but I suppose if I was giving advice on cathedral viewing, it would be to see Amiens last, as otherwise all others are going to seem lesser buildings.
In the car I headed off to Cherbourg. Once there, it was a city bustling and getting ready for the influx of tourists and holiday-makers. The fortifications in the harbour were very visible, but they are so large and extensive that to photograph them really is a video task.
I headed up to the coast and called into a bay (whose name at the moment I cannot recall). Here the evidence of German emplacements was still very visible, as was the erosion in the cliffs. I helped a girl who dropped picnic supplies (the group had just had lunch, while I was still munching on yesterday’s baguette) and found out she was with geology students observing the cliffs and their structure. She spoke excellent English and was very interested to know where I was from in Australia.
I was still on my way down to the beach when I spoke to a couple from England. There were elderly and driving a right-hand-drive car. The wife doesn’t drive and didn’t like seeing the cars so close, but the husband was used to it. I found out from them that the island visible only a short distance away was Alderney, one of the Channel Islands (British). Then I managed to make my way down and got some interesting views. Coming back there were two families with three small children (remember it’s school holidays here). The parents were trying to stop the children from playing in a small stream – faint hope!
I went further up the cliff and got some other shots of the beach (they are little bays, indented as along any coastline, with headlands separating them, but some beaches are pebbles while some are sand), then headed off to the capes. Here it was a reasonable walk but beautiful views.
I headed back along the coast, wanting to see a sample of the Normandy landing beaches. I called in at Grandcamp-Maisy and got information from the Tourist Bureau, including detailed maps of the beaches area, an explanation of “Rappell” on speed signs (“continued”) and yet another comment on my poor French and the guide spoke only in English to me. When he heard I was Australian, he got further information out for me (which means a bigger postage bill home). In the town, the arrows on the road said one thing, but I was able to drive down the beachfront (but not once the tourist season starts). I looked at Utah Beach, and the reason for choosing it was obvious – most other places were small or rocky, but this was expansive, flat and sandy. After that it was to the American Rangers memorial at Pointe Du Hoc. The defences are still there, though most are blown apart, and the shell holes are huge. It is difficult to imagine scaling cliffs even today, and trying to take the position, but it was done.
I went on to Omaha Beach. It seems incongruous to have such names in the French coastal areas, but I suppose it is a way of remembering each day what happened. Omaha Beach is a long and wide expanse of sand, and while ideal for landing, it also was ideal for defending, with high vantage points from which to shoot with impunity.
By this stage I was sort of “warred” out, so I set a course for McDonald’s in Bayeux, a contradiction if ever there was one. But I was desperate for Internet, and one has needs one has to fulfil. Once in there I ordered my meal (with my self-confidence getting yet another blow when after two words in French, the girl on the counter spoke to me in English) and set up the laptop, uploading all the pictures, my two blogs, checking and answering my email (I got a very nice reply from the family I met at Pozieres), finding out where I could cash my Amex cheques (the Post Office, apparently) and the current rate of exchange (about A$1 to €0,5318, so my Big Mac meal at €6,20 cost me over A$10).
Then it was back to my lodgings and as I pulled up, a little boy (different from yesterday’s) rushed up, opened the car door, looked at me, gulped and said “Pardon”, and then rushed away. He was obviously expecting someone and it wasn’t me. Then it was up to my room, set things up, transfer the photos from today over, try and back some up to DVD (I’m running out of room again, but I now need more DVDs), write today’s blog and then get to bed.
Some other things I remembered today and had forgotten in the meantime were:
At the Newfoundland memorial, I asked one of the Canadian guides who spoke with a French accent why signs in Canada had Arretet on them, but here they had Stop. She said the Canadian was pure French, but that the French had given in.
Then I heard another Canadian, in answer to a question (she was bilingual), say that when she spoke in French, she also thought in French – but when she spoke in English, she thought in English. I suppose that is what young children, who learn a number of languages at once while growing up, do without realising.
I have also now seen a farmhouse being built – of concrete brick, but skinned with old brick, so that when finished it will look old. I also have noticed many detached houses, on large blocks, just like in Australia. The problem is that they are taking productive farmland for these houses – again just like in Australia. When will priorities get sorted out?
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