Transcriptions of some recently found 'old' travel diaries, which supplement my other holiday blog (see sidebar)
Author: David Sugden
I'm am now almost-retired after many years of self employment. I used to teach teachers how to use modern and emerging technology Effectively, Economically and Engagingly ('E'-learning). Before that I was a chef and eventually a chef-lecturer.
I update several blogs regularly and have others that don't see me quite as often.
-EduVel.wordpress.com, was my main work blog and reflected my work role and thoughts around teaching and learning in the 21st Century. I don't update that any more.
-Saturdaywalks.wordpress.com is more personal and could be about absolutely anything. [This blog is updated regluarly].
-Shoestringfoods.wordpress.com is my 'food' blog - aiming to show others how easy it is to prepare and eat healthy, nutritious, economical food. [Not updated too much].
-Cosynookbooks.wordpress.com is where I reflect upon the books I've read. This is likely to be updated less regularly than the others, because I forget to do it :-( and because most books I read now are 'e' books.
-dsugdenholidays.wordpress.com - is where I log the more recent trips and holidays we have had. [This blog is updated regularly].
-sugdenonline.travel.blog - is something of a project. I have found some old holiday diaries and am now transferring them online. [This is updated regularly - 18.09.19]
I worked in the catering industry for most of my life - teaching chefs for almost seventeen years after working in hotels, hospitals and in a wide variety of self-employed roles.
:-)
As I said previously, my assumptions that central France would be devoid of traffic, were completely unfounded. First of all, there was nowhere to stay in Clermont-Ferrand. We must have visited at least twenty hotels only to be told that they were full, or to see ‘Hôtel Complet’ signs on their doors. Every time we stopped we were either just behind or just in front of some people asking exactly the same question: “vous avez un chamber pour ce soir?”. This became very frustrating. The weather was clouding over and night was drawing quickly in – we had to find somewhere. We even phoned and asked the lady we had booked our gîte with to see if she knew of anywhere, maybe in her village, we would have driven all the way if we had to. No such luck.
We drove further on, to a town called Issoire. This was a much smaller town, obviously thriving as it had quite a number of hotels. All full.
We drove on still further into the gloom towards small town called St. Flour. This was a pretty town in a (hilly) Harrogate sort of way – well equipped with hotels – all full. However, one receptionist did suggest that such-and-such a hotel about five miles down the road (and into the countryside) would probably have some rooms. As before – all full.
However, the receptionist at this off-the-beaten-track hotel was on the phone to another hotel asking for rooms for the man who was in front of me (and being told that they too were ‘complet’). So, we knew now to bypass that particular hotel, and what’s more, the man at the counter was now behind us!
We eventually found a hotel at Garabit. This, at the time, meant nothing to us but they did have a room for three people (their last) and we were able to finally stop for the night, after twelve hours on the road. The meals here were interesting. We asked for a well-cooked burger for Betony (which came bleeding – I had to pretend it was ketchup). Sharon had a turkey drumstick, cooked like a confit of duck and I had POUNTI, which I had never seen or heard of before. It was like a hot slab of pate de terrine.
Altogether, the evening there was delightful, if a little cold. Our room was so cold that we had to bring in our quilt from the car – we would need this at Stephen’s place.
Our travel-luck changed the next day, because as the sun came up after we departed the hotel, we were in for a surprise. Despite some fairly bleak countryside outside the hotel itself we were soon to see some really beautiful sights.
We set off on Thursday 13th July (probably 2000). We1 drove beneath the permanent summer cloud to Dover. Here, it brightened a bit as we boarded the ferry. I though that this was a good omen. We had booked a room in Boulogne and, driving down the new AutoRoute I reflected that the last time I had driven down this way was with Roger Forsey. He and I (both recently divorced at that time) had decided to drive to Dieppe for a few days, for no other reason than to go there – and to buy some booze on the way back. That time, it was absolutely sheeting down with rain and one lane of the then new motorway was blocked off because of the high winds. My reflection was that this time there was a strong sunlight and everything looked rosy. Another happy omen.
It was good to be in France.
Friday 14th was Bastille Day and because it was Friday this year the whole of France had decided to have a long weekend. This was both good and bad. Good because it meant that there were no lorries on the road and bad because – well, read on.
It had rained during the night, which made the morning fairly cold. We decided upon shorts and sandals, hoping that the weather would clear up a few miles down the road. We were heading for Languedoc – specifically for St. Jean de Fos, near Gignac. This meant that our route was unfamiliar and that we would have to somehow circumnavigate Paris. This, in itself is enough to make you give up all hope and to continue with the holidaying in Blackpool. However, Sharon had taken our map and photocopied the western part of Paris – blown it up to A3 and marked our proposed route with highlighter pen2. We were confident.
However, we missed the first major turning that we needed. There was just the one tiny signpost quite easily seen as you PASS the exit!
So, we ended up following the much ‘traffic-lighted’ road right in to the heart of Paris – at one stage we were hurtling towards the very centre, but I managed to turn back onto the periferique, where I was able to keep up a steady 85mph (!!) because that was what everyone else (and perhaps because there was very little traffic) was doing. The exit we now wanted was at the exact opposite side of Paris to where Sharon’s now useless photocopies wanted us to be. Still, we managed to get to the area where an exit was marked on our map, but we couldn’t find it exactly.
We were on the ‘interior’ but the exit we needed was on the ‘exterior’. All of those Parisians heading out to the coast had by now blocked the road we wanted anyway, so after a time where we were just tootling around the back streets of southern Paris, we found a road that was going in roughly our direction. The traffic lights however, thought that it was still a normal work day and spent a good hour teasing us to spending more time in southern Paris than we really needed to.
We were heading for Clermont-Ferrand and in my ignorance and grossly inflated overconfidence (not to mention arrogance) – we had not booked an overnight stay. I had been advised to do so, it being Bastille Day etc. but no – I thought that as the route took us through central France it must surly be quieter there. After all, I hadn’t been to this area of France before, so why should it be busy! The motorways out of Paris towards Bordeaux and the west coast resorts were full of traffic, but ours was not. It was patently obvious that I was correct, as when we did eventually reach the motorway south, it was clear and empty (and toll-free incidentally). We had a terrific ride down, despite the cloud, on a very empty road.
To say that ultimately, I was wrong in all of my assumptions, would be a massive understatement. Tbc (soon).
1 – This time I was travelling with my new girlfriend Sharon, (now my wife), and her daughter Betony. Although we had camped in the south of France the previous year, some of the venues we visit on this journey are new to her but much travelled by me.
Stephen and I had to fight over who would drive first but I pulled rank and said it was my car, so he could get lost. I hadn’t driven in Berlin yet and wanted to do so. The weather was still fine and the drive out was ok. We only had one hold-up, but saw a second incident.
It wasn’t clear what the original incident had been but one silly old duffer had run his car into something in front of us (we think that it was the central reservation, as no other car had stopped). Well, he just got out of his car and walked away (in search of a telephone I expect) and left the car there, in the fast lane – with his wife still sitting in it! Silly old sod. A little later on we saw a rescue helicopter in a field with all the services around it. Something must have happened earlier and was in the process of clearing up as we saw them lifting a stretcher into the chopper.
The first sign we saw that there had once been a split in the country was when we passed an old customs post which had once blocked the autobahn. I’m surprised that they hadn’t demolished it.
I had phoned France before we left the hotel in Berlin and had booked a room in the same Formula 1 we had stayed in on our first night. At least I think I had. The lady on the phone spoke no English and my French is poor to say the least. However, we struggled through. I wasn’t sure whether I had agreed to pay by Visa, if we didn’t turn up on time (which was the idea) or whether she just held the room until 19:00pm, which was company policy. However, when we got there after 20:00pm, we had a room and she had me on her list. We could have been there earlier, but for the French.
We had filled up in Germany, when we had only 1 – 2 gallons left. We could possibly have made the next petrol station but it wasn’t worth the risk. I estimated that we might JUST have enough to get us to the Shuttle (and therefore fill up in England, where petrol is cheaper). However, we were about 10 miles short of the hotel and maybe 30 miles short of the tunnel when I thought that perhaps we had only 1 – 2 gallons left in the tank again. We had done around 400 miles by this time too, so we thought it best that we fill up. We were a shade inside Boring Belgium and we had no cash, so I had to use my Visa and would therefore need to put at least half a tank in, to make it worthwhile. But that in itself wasn’t a problem. The problem was that we had to come off the motorway and drive into the nearest town. The French were just leaving this town in their millions, having just spent Sunday on the beach, in the hot sun. It took us almost two hours to get to the hotel, just ten miles away. Mind, that also include half an hour trying to find the hotel again. When we did find it, we realised that it was next to a massive hypermarket, something we had missed when we visited last week.
We ate that night in the barbecue place next door. A basic choice of food, all chargrilled, with chips and salad – the usual French fayre. It wasn’t too bad but we were spanked again for price. I actually complained in French again, that the bill included too many beers and the waiter understood, agreed and altered the bill. I’m getting good.
Day 8
In the morning, we took a look around the Carrefour Hypermarket and stocked up on beer and wine. I couldn’t find my favourite coffee, so had to do without. We then called at the Cité de Europe, the new Meadowhall type of place by the side of the Shuttle terminal. Here we found a small looking, but in fact quite large Tesco dedicated to beers, wines and spirits, nothing else. The prices were good too. It’s the only place in France that offers a full range of New World wines. We were able to buy Nottage Hill and Rosemount Aussie wines at about 25% less than at home in the UK. Lovely.
We then set off up the road toward England. We arrived at the Shuttle terminal and were told that the next train was boarding “now” and that we could get on it if we wished. We asked what time the next one would be and were told “half an hour” – so we selected that one as it gave us just enough time to go around the duty-free shop. So, we did this, then drove to the loading area. We were now told that there would be a delay of 20 minutes and that they would in fact begin loading at 13:30pm.
This was actually even better. It was almost 13:00 and we now had time to eat our lunch, purchased in the hypermarket, in the sunshine. So we set out the car’s picnic rug, disembowelled the car of all food (in bags, and cool boxes), knives and forks, cruet and drinks. We were sat there having a merry old time. The Spanish women sat on the bench next to us fair laughed when I went back for the second loaf of now droopy, baguette. The Germans behind us watched disdainfully, but we were ‘alright Jack’, the sun was out, the food was nice and we were going nowhere for half an hour. We then heard the announcement to say that boarding would commence immediately and knowing better (it was only 13:15pm), we carried on eating. Then the traffic began to move.
Well, you’ve never seen a car re-packed so quickly!
Up came the rug, with all its contents, to be dumped unceremoniously in the boot and everything else dumped in the back seat with Ben. I was still trying to finish my coke and get into the car as we drove off. I heard something drop even then, but couldn’t see what it was. As we drove towards the ramps, I noticed that the eye-piece for the video camera was missing and now knew exactly what had dropped under the car. I had Stephen reverse the car up the ramps and back the way we had come – to where we had stopped for lunch. A bit of arm waving, pointing and all known languages persuaded the troops to let me back into the waiting area where I found, the now much run-over, eye-piece. It cost me £25 to replace.
We had a little snackette on the only piece of grass available at Watford Gap service station and managed to arrive back in Mirfield about 18:00pm. Ben and I washed the car on our way back to Linthwaite and that was that.
Our adventure was over. Thank you for staying with us.
We eventually found a hotel right opposite the Berlin Opera House, The Hotel An Der Opera, and although it was more expensive that we’d hoped, it was the only hotel we had seen – so we took it. [24 years on, it now appears to be an Ibis Style hotel]
We settled in, licked the last of our whisky out of the bottle and set about the cheap vodka. Washed and changed, we were able to pop downstairs to one of the two Italian restaurants which share the building with the hotel. We were on Bismarkstraße which runs straight down towards the Brandenburg Gate and back towards what was West Germany.
Everything about the restaurant was strange. They employed THE most sarcastic waiters I have (had)1 ever come across and they must have thought we dropped in there out of a banana tree. We asked if they had ‘this’ or ‘that’ in our best German2or French for one of the Italians who could not speak German. Yet, that waiter got cross because he ‘hadn’t come to Germany to speak French’, only German – and he wasn’t very good at it. AND, they only had Italian wines and got quite airy when asked if they had others (a nice German wine was what we were looking for, as we were in Germany). “What do you expect in an Italian Restaurant?” the head waiter asked and we were too polite to tell him that he and his staff had provided all the rudeness we expected – in buckets. Our main concern was to get some food inside Ben and to stop him tummy rumbling – he’d already been on the phone to his mum and told her that we were not feeding him (despite him not wanting anything to eat in Meissen). Stephen also took his time ordering, which got plenty of sarky stares and comments from the staff.
I had minestrone soup, the like of which I had never had before. It was described as a vegetable soup and that is what it was, nice but not exactly what I expected. Stephen had questioned one of the starters and been told “yes, the mozzarella is fried and garnished” – he ordered that. I asked him, innocently, when he was half way through, how the cheese was fried (as it didn’t look fried) and he said he didn’t know. So, he asked the head waiter who said “it isn’t, he forgot to fry it” and whisked the half-eaten plate away. They had already forgotten to leave us any bread, had presented the wrong cutlery and so – for them (and us) it wasn’t a good night. At an arm and a leg, it was too expensive for an Italian. We didn’t go there again and we didn’t leave a tip.
That night we were SO hot, we must have lost gallons of sweat. The weather was really heavy, hot and sultry. Stephen said it was like this in Bangkok, but three times worse. We could have rung our pillows out in the morning. But then, there was a short thunderstorm, a little rain and the heaviness passed for a while. Not for long though.
Day 6 (full day)
Breakfast here was wonderful. Lots of different breads (although a little restricted on the Sunday because the bakeries were closed) and lots of different meats; the selection changed each morning, with various cheeses, jams and juices plus tea or coffee – lovely. However, still not much luck with boiled eggs on this trip; overcooked the first day and re-heated the second.
We went and bought one of the dearer subway tickets and travelled back to Unter Den Linden before walking back through the Brandenburg Gate. The tickets are split-price, the cheaper one being for pre-1989 residents. We explored the immediate area. There is absolutely no sign that there was ever a wall, which we thought was quite remarkable. We walked then for the rest of the day, through the Tiergarten, over to the Soviet Memorial, back though the park, down and round by the Zoologischer Garten and on to the main ‘West’ Berlin thoroughfare, Kurfürstendamm and Kantstraße. We found lots of hotels, bars and people! Bands were playing, singers singing, and dancers dancing – the whole place was a hive of activity, and – you couldn’t walk two minutes without tripping over hotels and guest houses!
There was an English language version of the Berlin tourist guide in the foyer of the hotel and the front-page article was headed ‘Berlin beer! Swell or Swill?’. We can confirm that it is swill. Quite the most disgusting beer we have ever tasted. They have to put a wedge of lemon in it just to make the head stay a while. This is not true of Czech beer or any other German beers we had tasted hitherto. We learned to avoid the Berlin types. Today it was my turn to carry the full rucksack. It had thundered in the morning and showed signs of rain, so we had to be prepared. As it turned out, it just got hot again.
We went home to change and then went out just wandering aimlessly, looking for food that we fancied. We walked down the same area we had been in that afternoon and eventually found an acceptable, small restaurant down a side street. I had Berlin Potato Soup, which was very nice and then some pot-roast pork (I think) – with sauerkraut and potato dumplings. Ben had a thick, almost raw steak, which he devoured with some gusto. I cannot recall what Stephen had.
That morning, as we made our way to the Metro station we came across a market just behind the hotel. It was only one stall deep and surrounded the church there. The produce of sale was superb, with every conceivable type of lettuce, mushroom, tomatoes etc. Many better than we’ve seen on the markets in Provence. A good day altogether.
And that was Saturday (22nd July 1995).
1 – I cannot tolerate bad or supercilious service. I don’t put up with it anymore. They are ‘told’ or I leave.
2 – Ben had just finished his ‘A’ level German, Stephen had worked in Germany for a while and I had passed my Institute of Linguists preliminary German exam a few years prior to departure. We all spoke v. basic French too: Ben had ‘GCSE’ level and both Stephen and I have superb ‘kitchen’ French.
We got up early and set off for Berlin. Breakfasted and washed, we were off by 09:00am and called first at a small supermarket to buy food and drink for the day.
Day 5
It took us some time to get out of Prague and onto the open road north to Germany, but we made it. The countryside seems to be a little cluttered around here (with pylons, factories etc.) but I suppose that that is the result of years of neglect. The Czechs seem to be a hardworking people, so there’s hope for the future. We didn’t see many beggars here.
What we did see on our journey north, particularly as we neared Germany and drove up into the mountains were lines of ‘ladies’1 plying their trade at the side of the road. Young and old alike, there were many groups of them waving at passing cars, trying to make them stop. I was almost tempted to stop and ask ‘how much?’ (purely for research reasons I must add), but they might never have let the car go again. They were certainly very colourful.
We also passed a very large brick-built structure which we thought at first must have been a military barracks, but as it was disused and as it seemed to go on and on, we began to wonder. Only when we got to the town centre and saw the tour buses and the enormous ‘Jewish Memorial’ did we realise that it was a concentration camp2. The town was Terezin.
We drove up to the border at the mountaintop and had no rouble getting through. We bought lots of cheap vodka and a Magnum each before driving off into the beautiful ‘East’ German countryside.
I mentioned Magnum just now. Early in our tour, this became our official rate of exchange. When we could not tell how much things were (in Holland for example), we gauged it on the price of a Magnum. Stephen insisted that they were only 99p for three at the Mirfield Co-op, but that most vendors charged that amount for just one. So, the rate of exchange was 1 x Magnum = £1.00. Therefore, whatever the cost of a Magnum (or equivalent) abroad was directly convertible into English. Simple, see? The rates of this exchange from town to town and country to country varied enormously (as you can imagine), so thank goodness for international exchange rates, which we now believe are more reliable. (lol).
Having filled up in Germany, something we had sought to avoid as the fuel is much dearer, we set off towards Dresden. We had not been able to fill-up in Czech as the petrol station did not take visa and we didn’t have enough Zlotaks left. Dresden looks a beautiful city but the video camera had discharged itself and we were not able to take any shots as we passed. We definitely intended to make Berlin that day so we didn’t stop, preferring to get to Meissen, just up the road instead. We stopped at this old and famous (for porcelain) town for a late lunch. Because it was so hot, none of us wanted more than a cake from the shop and a cold drink. At the top of the town is a tower and a church. To get to these, you have to climb 200 steps (I don’t know who counted). The heat was almost unbearable by now and we were completely shagged when we got to the top. However, from up here, we could see for miles around. The red roofs of the town were all below us and it obvious that cheap loans are now available via ‘soli’3, in this ex-East German town for upkeep and repairs. They are obviously hoping to cash in on the tourist market and so they should, as the town is a pleasant place to visit. We did witness some ugliness though. As we walked back towards the car we passed along a street with Turkish or similarly owned businesses where the windows had been broken. This sort of thing is rife in Germany, where the Germans are afraid that cheaper Turks will take their jobs.
Our drive continued and we reached the autobahn. It must have been one of Hitler’s first and hadn’t been maintained since. In places the concrete carriageway was so uneven it was positively dangerous. In parts, one lane was 2”-3” higher than the next – tyre ripping stuff. It was good to finally reach Berlin. Although, for many miles you wouldn’t know that you were in one of the greatest capital cities of the world. We’d bought a map on the outskirts and headed towards Templehof Airport, which was roughly in the direction we wanted to go. Our aim was to find a hotel somewhere out of the centre but near a Metro station. We couldn’t have done this however, until we found out where we were on the map. This led to a frustrating hour trying to find out where that was exactly. We drove along a promising road signposted >>Centrum>> which was cobbled for about 12 miles. We saw no hotels.
We eventually found ourselves on the map and tried several promising looking areas but the whole time (perhaps another hour), we found only two. Hotels. One was £100 per night and the other looked a little shady. We then shot out of a road4 and found ourselves right next to the Brandenburger Tor and on Under Den Linden. This was fascinating, especially after the forty odd years that Berlin was split as it once was5.
We popped out of the street at the opposite side of what we see here.
What we hadn’t realised until now, was the we were looking for hotels in what had been East Berlin, where of course, commerce had been subdued for the forty years following the war and had little need for the type of hotel we were looking for. By now it was late and we were tired and fed-up. I tried to phone a hotel out of town, but my money wouldn’t stay in the and I got nowhere.
We eventually found a hotel right opposite the Berlin Opera House, The Hotel An Der Opera, and although it was more expensive that we’d hoped, it was the only hotel we had seen – so we took it. On reflection, the price wasn’t that bad, bearing in mind what we had paid in Czech. The estimated conversion of the bill from deutschmarks was £204.10 for two nights (I paid by Visa and didn’t note the exact amount later). That’s three people B & B. Add the Czech bill of approximately £61.65 and divide by five night (although one was really just a morning lol) and it’s down to around £17.70 per person per night, which is roughly the cost of a room in France. So, seven nights at a rough conversion rate (not Magnum rate) cost us about £14.50 each per night, which isn’t that bad at all. The meals however, did cost a good bit more.
1 – The term used at that time was ‘mucky women’ lol.
2 – Looking at Google maps, it seems that the road to Germany had been diverted since our visit. We certainly drove around and through the town. It was eerie.
5 – For all of our lives, none of us three had ever known anything other than a divided Berlin. To be so close to this poignant reminder of the wall that figuratively divided Europe, which was there until finally demolished just a few years before our arrival, was thought provoking.
very time we stopped we were either just behind or just in front of some people asking exactly the same question: “vous avez un chamber pour ce soir?”. This became very frustrating. The weather was clouding over and night was drawing quickly in – we had to find somewhere. We even phoned and asked the lady we had booked our gîte with to see if she knew of anywhere, maybe in her village, we would have driven all the way if we had to. No such luck.
My even older Holiday Weblog 