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.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
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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