Here’s another update, this time via free wifi from an expensive Logis de France, Ariane, set in beautiful walking countryside. I’ll be sleeping in the giant car across the road, although I might try to pay them off to allow me to use the pool and showers in the morning. I’ll even offer them as much as 10€ – it will still be 6 times cheaper than a double room there.
Anyway, read on for the latest news on my exciting solo holiday. Feel free to flick through: I’m writing it how I would a diary, and it won’t all be of interest.
I left you last night when I was planning to spend the evening. As you know, the rain was falling quite heavily as I worked from my mobile office, with cinqtuple aspect windows, comfy chairs and great ventilation. Here’s how the rest of the day worked out.
The patter of the rain having stopped, being replaced by the rumble of my stomach, I walked from my free parking space back into Chartres, a town which I’ve grown to like for its winding, historic streets and effervescent locals. The light was fading, as were the locals, each, I suppose to his abode. A few bars and cafes enjoyed some life, but not for me, les tables touristique. I carried on through the town to the vegetable market, where I saw a small, very french-looking bistro. As I approached to espy the menu (I fancied chicken and chips), a half-cut Frenchman somewhat fell out, mobile to his ear, which boded very well… I went in none the less.
I sat down immediately (I had the choice of the tables: there were only three men at the bar) and ordered from the blackboard; entrecote et frites was my choice. It didn’t seem that cheap for France, but with near Euro-Stirling parity, I’d prepared myself for the worst anyway. I also ordered a half-bottle of local red. All the while, the young, helpful proprietor and his wife made busy. It seemed that he was cooking.
I was amazed when the meal arrived. It looked stellar (I’ll sort out the photos tonight) and tasted amazing. I got chatting to the guy, to discover that he’d worked in London for six months and had shared a flat with Gordon Ramsay. Something had rubbed off – thankfully not the demeanour of the aforementioned!
I also got chatting to the non-English-speaking regulars at the bar. Philippe, a particularly chatting 30-something had an opinion on everything. We soon got along very well – I really felt accepted by the group, and they did wonders for my evening, such that any thoughts I might have had about finding a boite de nuit were put paid to. After a few more drinks, I rolled out of there at about 2300, and set off across town again, to the car. One learns to navigate in Chartre by remembering the orientation of the cathedral as seen from any particular destination. It is then a breeze to wander through the streets, checking one’s position against it. I got back to the car, took out my tripod and took some great pictures with long exposures, down by the river. I had hoped to see the illuminations (one of the reasons I stayed the night there), but they were not on (bar the river ones, strangely): I was, I think, a day early for the switch-on. For that reason, I might return to Dieppe via there, the night before.
As I turned to wander back down the street, a car passed me, then backed up. It was the boss from the bar, (perchance, as I was a long way from it by then) and he wanted to inform me that I’d left my magazines there. Now, I have read that when holidaying alone, one should always keep a book or some magazines with you: it gives you something to do and means also that people won’t be concerned to talk to you as you appear alone, not waiting for someone. I’ve taken a box-load of old Linux{User|Format} mags, and as they date back to 2002 in some cases, I’m not worried about losing them! I thanked him, and told him not to worry.
There’s one problem with the sleeping in the car thing (“only one?”, I hear you say). Toilets. I’d omitted to relieve myself before leaving the bistrot, and spent an urgent few minutes hunting for an appropriate place to do so. Luckily, the are was not short of the odd tree and grassy area. The act of urination in a public place is clearly not illegal in France: indeed, everyone’s doing it, and it seems to be encouraged by some bylaw or other, pour l’amelioration des environs, perhaps? I’ve even lost some of my appal over the whole matter.
I slept very soundly, but awoke curiously early: about 0615. I dressed and drove on. As you know by now, 100 miles before breakfast is very good for the constitution. There were mainly lorries on the road until I pulled into Tours, where the traffic had gathered to await my arrival. I got Jane to divert me to the north of the town, where I found by chance a supermarket and a sign to a swimming pool! Oh joys unbounded! I shopped, ate and fell asleep for another few hours. I then rose and drove the couple of km to the pool, where I got told off again for having shorts, not briefs, swam (I’m getting fit again, and remembering my stokes), showered (no shave, this time), all for 2€40, which was rather more than Chartres, notable for its older building, but better water.
I then drove into the centre of town, intending to park and find out what it offered on foot. The traffic had laid in wait for the alien once again. London driving experience was of good use: I’m a much more cheerful driver than any French person I’ve seen so far. They’re also on average quite poor drivers, low on observation and concentration. The lower quartile smoke whilst negotiating the narrow streets. I’ve found a special joy in stopping to allow pedestrians to cross (they never expect it) and also to allow out the odd vehicle from a side road on the right (the old, much maligned but not-as-silly-as-it-sounds priorite a doite rule, which, whilst not required in an area indicated by a yellow diamond sign, is retained by some of the older practitioners and can catch out the unwary etranger who thinks he has priority on the main road. Two collision avoidance techniques prevail: either accelerate when approaching a junction so that the waiting emerger knows you have no intention of stopping for them or observing their expression (the French are very facially and manually expressive), so that the more dangerous older drivers can be identified. I’ve not found cause to use my horn, yet; English restraint and all that.
Tours does little for me. I had a late lunch at a small, reasonably-priced and friendly cafe-restaurant. I elected to have the plat du jour, a rice and chicken con-coq-tion as I was late and they were about to shut the kitchen.
I briefly visited the cathedral to pray and to take pictures, then wandered back to the car.
I intended at this point to drive to the next point on the N10 Paris route, Poitiers. I was 20 slooooow minutes out of Tours, when I espied a light aircraft on short finals over the road. I dived off to the aerodrome, and chatted to the non-English speakers in the office. I finally talked one guy into taking me for a flight tomorrow at 1100 for 30 mins, for the princely sum of 60€. I would not have been able to make the arrangements so easily in the UK. I explained that I had experience and they seemed very happy. They thought I wanted to solo! If I had wanted a formal lesson with an instructor, I would have had to wait until Saturday and pay rather more. As it is, I’m paying cash-in-hand to another bloke there. Easy money for him, and much more relaxed terms. He’s said that I can take control, which is great. I’ll also be taking photos of the great chateaux of the Loire. Amazingly, even a slow aircraft is only 10 minutes from le Mont Saint Michel, should I want to see that instead, but 5 castles and a spin at the controls will do nicely, thankyouverymuch!
So life is a bowl of cherries, people. I’ve revised my plan to go to Poitiers today, and as a result, I’ve found this great walking country, with the lake and a small resort with bars and camaderie. On s’amuse bien et beaucoup!