Category: Travel

Hello gang!

I left you in the last instalment whilst sitting in the office component of the supermultimodal mobile command centre. I must say that my enthusiasm for the lake-place started to wane during my hunt for a cash machine. You see, I’d pictured the rest of the town to be like the lake bit…

I’d also misread the scale on the Google maps. Far from finding a nucleic village with everything a man needs in the evening (ahem), I had found myself in the attractive part of a sprawling suburb of Tours. Quaintly, I thought to wander to a cash dispenser, of which there were allegedly many in the town centre. I soon realised that the leafy lane I expected to wander down was in fact, the main D road that I had left to take up position. Undeterred, but beginning to realise that the distances involved might be somewhat greater than they first appeared on inspection of la carte googletronique, I plodded on, over two roundabouts (the French like to enter these simultaneously before their desired exits are clear, turning them into useless car parks – very amusing unless you happen to be wanting to go somewhere), and then further and further. The light fading, and the sprawl of dodgy bars and chain hotels seeming to be unending, confirmed the extent of my error. By analogy, if I had I under-calculated by this degree in command of a 737 to Sicily, my fuel plus reserve would have abandoned me in the Med. Thankfully, feet on the ground, I located one of the cash points, surreptitiously withdrew my fonds and started my search for what the morning would require: a swimming pool, of course. One local, with pushchair and clearly not far from home, responded to my request offered in perfectly pronounced but utterly garbled French that no such thing existed in the town, and I would have to go to Tours in the morning to fulfil my intentions. I thanked her, then set off back to the main road, noting as I did the very signs which would in due course lead me to the allegedly non-existent piscine couverte…

Deciding to divert to check it out, it was with angst that I noted on the front door to this particular township’s degrading swimming facilities that they were only open over lunch and after work on weekdays. With a heavy heart, I continued my walk back to the lake where the Tardis was parked. I needed a new plan.

Alas, on my return to the lakeside haven, no bar was to be found: what I thought was a resort was in fact merely a few hotels arranged in a group. Whilst there were restaurants in each, none had a bar, and in any case, it was late for food. I entered the foyer of one and requested a beer, which was duly brought to me, though I had to sit on a very uncomfortable seat (deliberately uncomfortable, I wonder?) and read some leaflets, which served little purpose than to cause me to conclude that (a) a volunteer railway did not exist in the vicinity (to my displeasure – when one has the urge to play with the trains, the TGV on the main line is never an option) and (b), the wonderful Cinéscénie show in the Vendee has been made even better and more spectacular for 2009.

As the whole area was clearly empty of the life and camaraderie I desired, I wandered out to take some pictures in the pitch darkness of the lake area. These were a success, and a great lesson in 30+ second exposures at small apertures. trial and error, combined with knowing roughly what the buttons do is all that contemporary photography requires of the newcomer. I will deal with the photos in due course (when my feet touch the ground?) and let you seem them on Google.

I went back to the car for a delicious sandwich dinner of chorizo, bread, saumon fume, yoghurt, etc., then moved it out of the street light, down the service road of a huge country house very nearby. I resolved to move the car very early in the morning, lest I was moved on by police or residents, and set my alarm for 0600.

I awoke to the cold morning, still dark. I had slept well, but felt my hours had been cut short, so I moved the car to a close near its original location and fell asleep again. At 0830, I rose again (classic Easter behaviour, I assure you), dressed and reparked near the guest house. The lady at the desk dearly wanted to allow me to pay-per-swim, but the insurance prevented members of the public from doing so. I was resolved to drive to Tours after all: I wanted a shower and I had loads of time prior to my flight at 1100.

My experiences in Tours took a turn for the unexpected and undesirable. Arriving at another pool attached to the municipal sports centre, I discovered to my chagrin that the opening hours were the same as those in the suburbs! I was thwarted, but undeterred. I mused that any sports centre of the municipal variety must have a gym with shower facilities. I would pay to use the gym and make a beeline for the washroom.

The “centre sportif municipal” was really just a huge building filled with… Judo dojos. At least three, with a large, stadium-like ring for spectators. I espied the showers, but the doors to the dojos were locked. Enquiring at the security point in the otherwise empty building, I explained my plight in delightfully lilting francogrunt. Thankfully, in my cas exceptionel, they were prepared to allow me to shower in the judges’ changing rooms! I therefore enjoyed for free some reasonable facilities, hot water, etc. I washed, shaved, put on fresh clothes and walked out with a wave of thanks to the security staff! Yes, effectively, today I washed for free! Cost of accommodation and toilet? 0€! The holy grail of slimline living!

With a soppy grin, I returned to my vehicle via a conveniently located patisserie, to discover that I should have paid for parking, failed to, but had no parking ticket! Double cream! I was a mere 30 mins from the aerodrome, so I set off, to arrive there rather early. Although I offered to help, they seemed to have a team of mechanics, and all the daily inspections of the aircraft were complete. Accordingly, I sat comfortably, greeting mes amis pilotes as they arrived, and reading seeming endless back issues of info-pilote which were stacked up in the corner. My knowledge of French aeronautical terms has improved, not least to a glossary explaining the meaning in English of the various parts of a runway, indicated in French.

Finally, my first pilot friend, Remis, arrived a little late, bringing bright sun and fair-weather cumulus with him. I counted him out the money as agreed, then we got going. No formalities. Nothing to sign. No discussion of my air competence. Wonderful! Almost all my hours are on simulators, anyway, and don’t really count! He and I got along in broken French, and we even shared the odd pun. Before long, we had gone through the checks, me explaining and confirming the terms he used in English, then we were taxiing toward the runway. We held short, then tested the engine, each magneto separately. All sounded good across the rev range. We were off! I asked to follow through on the takeoff, and he didn’t seem to care what I did. We rotated at 110 knots (it was a four-seater, after all, not the two-seater I had actually paid to fly, to my delight) and climbed briskly to 2000 ft, where I assumed control, basically for the whole flight. He took back the stick so that I could take some great aerial photos of some of the chateux on the Loire that we passed (within 1100 ft at times!) and he was always happy to give back control, crossing his arms to make it clear that I should be flying. We laughed for a lot of the trip, just keeping an eye out for any Mirage jets from the nearby MATZ. I asked if we could fly a circuit before landing, which he duly allowed, and he helped me find the field. I coordinated all the turns, including the long final approach. At no point did he take back control, although he gave me advice on correcting my glide, and when to deploy the flaps. But it was my landing. The whole thing was very exhilarating. The 200 knot cruise speed (about 230 mph), the turbulence, the noise, the radio chatter, it was all great! When we landed, he would have done it all again if I’d coughed up the cash. My taxi back to the parking was challenging: the first time I have ever taxied in meatspace, and lightness on the differential brakes and rudder pedals seems to produce the best result, although I swerved a little drunkenly at times. Remis was Buddhist in his outlook at all times in spite of my failings, helping me in a friendly way as required, and keeping me dans le centre la voie as much as possible and tweaking the throttle when I failed to as my cockpit workload was too high at the best of times.

Remis praised my “bon pilotage”, which was encouraging. I think I will try some gliding at a field I’ve found in the countryside just south of Bordeaux. Cheaper, even more flexible and a real day out, running around, pushing the things, helping with the launches, etc. Extra hands are always appreciated.

Grinning from ear to ear (as you might have gathered I’ve done for most of the trip), I drove on to Poitiers, which, despite my initial misgivings redeemed itself with its quaint streets and lively shoppers. I snapped the cathedral (of course), and was done in two hours, ready to commence my journey.

So you find me now in an unpleasant town called Angouleme, which is rather industrial and doesn’t have much to offer me (except this free wireless from someone’s unsecured network nearby). I will google the place and its environs, and if I find somewhere that should be nicer within 30 miles or so, I’ll go there for dinner. Such is the life of a budget-concious digital nomad. Otherwise, I’ll pitch up here in a side-street and hunt for my dinner.

Thanks for reading (I’m not sure I would have bothered with this under-edited splurge), and I’ll catch up with you again tomorrow!

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!

What an interesting holiday. My last two holiday articles described how I thought the trip would go. Here’s what actually happened.

I lost the car key. Unbelievable, but as my booking on the P&O ferry to Calais was not finalized, I had options. Read on for the low-down on Day 1.

Found the key. Thank God. I made a booking at 1800 yesterday with Transmanche (the French, publicly-owned ferry company). It cost me £122.00 return, Newhaven to Dieppe. I’ll admit that it was double what I’d have paid to get to Calais, but I might not have made it: Operation Stack turned the M20 into a car park.

I ran around the house collecting belongings, and got on the road at 2015 to arrive at Newhaven at about 2145. Very quick around the M25. I was early for boarding. Talk about an instant holiday: bear in mind I’d booked only about 4 hours before…

The crossing was fine. Tried to sleep, but ended up chatting to an itinerant Greek called Petrus. He wouldn’t let me take his picture, though. At 0400 French time, the ferry birthed. I drove Petrus into Dieppe, where I left him. He was looking for a bus or taxi to Paris. I wished him luck. He may still be pacing around Dieppe. The place was completely dead.

I then drove for about 2h45 to a village outside Chartres. Parked in a quiet spot in the country and fell asleep. I was woken by an old man urinating noisily against the nearby wall. Within minutes, a funeral crowd and procession turned up and the place was very lively. I was caught with my trousers off in my sleeping bag. Madness. I had to wait for them all to go into the graveyard before I could get out of the sleeping bag. Didn’t want to cause a scene on such a tragic occasion…

I spent the time talking to a nice Indian girl with a fake midlands accent (nearly typed “accident”). I was calling Orange to arrange a discount on my calls from France. I ended paying £15 for 10 measly MB of data (using it sparingly now), an hour of calls out and an hour of calls in. Horrendously expensive. She reviewed my current plan and remarked with my amazing 7-8 year loyalty to Orange, she had _never_ seen such a discounted package. She promptly discounted it again by another £5/month. I now pay less than a texting teeny-bopper for all my (around 1600 mins a month) calls. She also put me on a better data plan, saving me yet more money. She asked me to give her a good review, which I will do when that text comes over. I’m still going to push for more deals at the end of the month, though!

So, at around 1030, I set of for Chartres. I’m aiming to spend as little on accommodation, food and parking as possible. I bought bread, orange juice and a cake for breakfast from a small suburb. I then phone-googled the public swimming pool, and had a good swim and… a great shower and shave! All for 1€ parking and 1€30 to swim! I don’t think I’m going to stay in a hotel the whole trip!

I spent the afternoon wandering around Chartre, drinking coffee and reading old Linux User magazines. The sun has been great. Now I’m sitting in the car, in the rain, blogging and planning the evening. I think I will go to Double-Six, A night club a short walk away from where I’m parked. I hope to sleep in the car again tonight (I don’t think the police will notice me: most people don’t sleep in MPVs with the seats taken out!) In the morning, I will go for another swim, shower and shave, then drive down to Poitiers, unless Clare e-mails me a better plan as she has suggested she might. I might eat dinner out tonight.

Love to all!

Some of you may have read about my proposed trip through France. In the light of the huge number of miles, I think I’m going to scale back my expectations so that I can spend more time relaxing, rather than driving. If I think how tiring it is just doing a weekend run up to the Lake District and back, I’m simply not being realistic about my health and happiness in a 10-day trip. I’ll save a longer run for when I can share the journey (and driving!) with Clare, and take a little more time. Going with someone else effectively halves all the costs as well: rooms for two cost as much as rooms for one, normally, and the fuel bill is halved. On the subject of halves, I’m also inclined to believe that other halves make for more fun holidays!

Accordingly, here is my adjusted route:

View a big’un

My stop-off in La Rochelle is due to the fact that I have a friend to visit there. It is also a great town that I’ve visited before, and, in fact, was the subject of one of my old French GCSE textbooks (don’t ask me the name… Encore Tricolor?) I feel the place needs more exploration!

My plan will be to blatt through industrial France, sticking to the countryside where possible, and avoiding toll-roads. I’m hoping for sun (aren’t we all?) and to find nice, reasonable places to stay. If you care to join me, you’re welcome!

P.S. Thanks to all who kindly gave southerly suggestions. I’ll make use of them in due course, but Atlantic Coast sights are of particular interest now!

When my lease runs out at the beginning of April, I’m not going to find a new place. Instead, I’m going to drive through France to Spain, and the route I plan to take is as follows:

James’ France trip (Google Maps)

View Larger Map

What do you think of the route? Is there anywhere in particular that you think I should take in? How many days do you think I should take (I want it to be restful!), and in which places would it be best to stop? I plan anyway, to do the following:

• Wine tasting in Bordeaux (Château Cablanc maybe? I fancy getting my hands dirty!)
• A poke around some Andorran villages, and at least one day trek. Canillo and Andorra la Vella
• A night or two in Barcelona
• Exploring the coast road up to maybe Girona and l’Escala where I have contacts
• Following the coast into France, then cutting over to Carcassonne
• Schlepping back up to the north coast, probably stopping less

As to accommodation, I would certainly mix and match bed and breakfast, organised on the way along with some YHA member hostels to keep the overall trip price down, although I shouldn’t have to worry too much, as I won’t be paying rent and bills in Henley.

As to vehicle, that is undecided. The Daewoo would be sure to serve nicely, if not economically. I’d prefer to borrow another vehicle I have in mind; one which I could possibly sleep in should that be necessary…

I would plan to use the motorways only a little, and probably that would be for the journey down to Bordeaux on the first day. I might hurry back up in the last day, as well, with a possible Paris stop-over if I had time in hand. Maybe Clare could come out and meet me there?

I’d be glad of your views on my little trip. I’m sure it could be improved in structure, and probably made more realistic!