Mainly travel: A-B – My even older Holiday Weblog

Tarn Gorge – Languedoc #3

As we moved off and away from the hotel we had stayed in last night, it was windy and slightly overcast. The road was wet from overnight rain, but the sun did eventually start to break through. We had elected for long trousers and trainers today – it was not hot.

Just around the corner, we found the hotel that the receptionist in St. Flour must have mentioned. The Hotel Garabit is a fairly gothic sort of structure, something you might expect the Count of Monte Cristo to be staying in. It overlooks a vast and truly delightful lake, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since I went to Oz. It reminded me of Berowra Waters, just north of Hornsby (just north of Sydney). The road we were on, which up until now, perhaps five minutes from the hotel, had been pretty mundane, wound its way down to the lakeside and along it for several miles. There were hotels here by the score – something to remember for the future¹.

The road wound through various types of kind-to-the-eye countryside until it reached the motorway again – just a couple of exits from where we had left it last night. We decided that, as our road was empty, and we were getting these visual treats, we would stay on the ‘B’ road (D road in France) for as long as we could. The map we were using suggested that there might be hold-ups on the motorway, close to a couple of towns en-route, so it would be good to miss those.

After meandering for about an hour, Betony became bored and we began to play a game that involved us getting points for things that we saw along the way. We made up the rules as we went along: 1 point for a poppy, 5 points for a sheep (until we realised that we were in sheep country), 2 points for a church, 2 points for a cyclist (but 10 points for a female cyclist – much rarer), 50 points for an elephant, and so on. Much later, we gave this game up, but as we approached St. Tropez the following week, we saw quite a few elephants!

We eventually (fairly soon) rounded bend and there in front of us was the most wonderful sight. We had come out above the Tarn Gorge. None of our maps had suggested that we were this close. Once again, this beautiful area reminded me of my time in Oz, especially, because of our elevated position, the Blue Mountains. The drop down the side of the gorge was quite frightening but when we reached the bottom it was like a fairy grotto for several miles along the riverside. All the villages were geared up for tourists and we found it hard to park. In fact, we decided to have lunch on an outcrop of rock overlooking the gorge from the bottom end. It rained slightly as we sat on our picnic rug, wrapped in waterproof coats.

The route we were now on looked like it might take us to our ultimate destination via the D roads. All we had to do was find the correct turning – with no clues². So, we turn back to the Autoroute and ended up dropping down another yet mountain into Millau³ – where we had missed the first lot of traffic jams.

We made good progress for several miles before becoming becalmed on the motorway, for no apparent reason.

From here onwards, the countryside that the road wound through was truly magnificent. Almost all the way down to Gignac the scenery was terrific and would certainly be a lovely journey at another, quieter time of year.

^{TBC – we arrive}

1 – How I can have written this and not mentioned the Garabit Viaduct, I cannot imagine. Much in this area has changed over the intervening years but not the viaduct. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garabit_viaduct

Garabit

2 – The sign-posting at this point was abysmal and although we could see that we had to pass through ‘Vieux de Montpellier’ we were not prepared to pay. Apparently (although I can find no reference to this form of words today – 2019), this is a national park and if you want to pass though, you are charged per occupant. There was no saying that the road actually went to the town we wanted either.

3 – Millau has changed beyond all recognition in the intervening years. See https://flic.kr/p/frdkzs

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En-Route – Languedoc #2

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.

Another trip to France – #1

We set off on Thursday 13^th 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 14^th 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.

Who knew that there were two periferiques? – SEE.

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.

2 – Remember, no SatNavs back then.

The Final Road Home – Bohemia #8

Day 7

After breakfast on Sunday, we were on our way.

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.

The Road to Berlin – Bohemia #6

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.

Picture of Brelin wall with Brandenberg gate behind. People are stoo on the wall. — 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.

3 – Following the fall of the Berlin Wall the German government introduced a “solidarity surcharge,”, which is, even now apparently, still imposed. https://www.dw.com/en/taxpayers-demand-end-to-soli-tax-to-boost-eastern-german-economy/a-41315805

4 – That must have been Wilhelmstrasse.

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.

Picture Credit:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berlin_Wall#/media/File:West_and_East_Germans_at_the_Brandenburg_Gate_in_1989.jpg