Dijon, mmmmm mustard

Now that GPS Mrs Beckham is my bitch our drive to Dijon, the capital of the Burgundy area of France goes without hiccup. It is a long way from Nice. I’m pretty sure that driving up a highway for 5 hours is not the way to see the south of France but this is the whistle-stop tour. I’m just grateful and happy I’ve been here at all.

We passed this on the highway. It’s French for yoghurt!

Dijon, the home of THAT mustard is an idyllic town with gingerbread timber framed houses, cobblestone streets and roofs of multi coloured glazed tiles in geometric patterns. It’s two major exports are mustard and cassis (blackcurrant) which I’m very pleased to tell you is yet another new Lindt dark chocolate flavour. I think Lindt should start paying me for advertising or at least give me a lifetime supply.
href=”https://happyhorti.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/20130622-214032.jpg”>

<a

THE OWL
Dijon is a town that has its tourism sorted and they have designed a bunch of walking tours that are easy to follow with these cute little triangular gold owl symbols to follow. Like Paris, it has a Notre Dame and an Arc De Triomphe. The Notre Dame has an owl carved into the stonework that nobody really knows the origin of but it has managed to wangle itself into the hearts and minds of this town. The popular superstition is to touch the owl with your left hand (the one closest to your heart) to make a wish and for good luck. University students reputedly touch it for good luck with their exams. Perhaps they should try studying. Of course I gave it a good rubbing.

Notre Dame has an the best gargoyles

The walk around the city is very pleasant as you basically can’t spit without hitting an historical building. Also famous as a movie set for Cyrano de Bergerac with Gerard whatshisname. Everything worth seeing is within walking distance.

That bench from that film

My only complaint is that it is incredibly hot as the streets are wall to wall paving with no green life to cool it down. The funnest place in town is Place de la Liberation where against its stark limestone backdrop the kids gleefully soaked themselves in the fountain.

Some of the big kids too!

GARDENS
The two green spaces I finally found were sadly kind of crappy.
Jardin Darcy, guarded by a gigantic huggable polar bear (why a polar bear?) is a beautiful yet poorly maintained space with giant trees to shade beneath and a generous water feature completely devoid of water. It will be alright for the next group!

The Jardin l’Arquebuse, their main botanic garden was really unkempt and full of weeds. Perhaps they were just at the beginning of their spring work. They had a nice collection of big trees like Sequoias and some really disturbing statues. The roses were the most impressive with vigorous climbers absolutely abloom. I did manage to find something huggable.

How an elephant fits into this garden in the south of France was never quite clear to me.

Poor lion

Two very prolific scrambling rose bushes

The Swiss Family McRobinson Tour is over. We drove to Zurich for one night with my niece and then the family headed home to Australia as I headed to Rome for 3 weeks of Italian indulgence.

Zurich, you’ve changed!!
The drive from Dijon back to Zurich feels a bit like driving through the Australian countryside. Lots of flat land with small green hills in the distance. Blue skies and sunshine, a land of sweeping plains.

We passed this town on the way. Nimbin’s rival perhaps.

We arrive in Zurich to sweltering heat and the city is transformed. The people seem more relaxed and their dress code has certainly changed. Gone is the tidy stylish wear and out has come the shorts, dresses and flip flops. For the first time what poverty there is here is visible. We’ve been looking forward to our apartment here. It is Zurich after all. It’s going to be nice and clean and orderly. Instead we find ourselves in Zurich’s seedy underbelly. A street of brothels, streetwalkers and all night bars. We bring our mother to all the best places! The apartment is not as advertised, missing certain essentials that we were counting on like a dining table and washing machine. On the top floor with no air conditioning, the air is like hot soup and we have to leave the windows open all night and therefore subject to the noise of the debauchery on the streets. I choose finally to sleep on the kitchen tiled floor with just a doona beneath me and ear plugs to dull the noise enough to sleep a few hours. I have no photo evidence of said debauchery. Safer to stay indoors!

A few more picture of delicious Dijon

Tiled glazed roof

I found a new drink. Beer and tequila. How to fit more alcohol into one drink. Effective!

Column hugging

Another city, another Arc de Triomphe. Built first apparently.

NEXT STOP ROMA – CIAO

A is for Avignon, L is for Lavender

The journey here was another bloody stressful drive. GPS Mrs Beckham continues to thwart our plans. After yet another long detour I finally figure out the problem. Deep in the bowels of her program she has the road tolls deselected. All the highways have tolls so she was trying to save us toll money by spending it on fuel instead and taking us cross country. Bitch.

The ancient walls of Avignon

Palais des Papes – Palace of the Popes.
I subscribe personally to the idea that religion and state should always be separate. A tour around this magnificent building with the accompanying audio guide is most excellent at reinforcing that belief as they bang on about just how political religion was back in the day (and remains). The opulence they lived in offended me. I’ve never understood why god needed so much gold and jewels. I was particularly amused at the bedchamber of one particular pope who could only sleep if he had his three attendants with him and was draped in velvet. Indeed! We weren’t allowed to take pictures in that room for fear of damaging the beautiful frescoes.

Female Pope

Once upon a time a there was a female pope. True! The poor lass however did not remain virginal as is so highly prized in religious women and got herself up the duff. She gave birth prematurely during a parade and promptly lost her baby, her life and there ends the tale. There was a very disturbing art exhibition in the palace by five women artists in her honour featuring most memorably disturbing models of melted flesh.

Ugh!

The Bridge Across The River Rhone

Benezeit Benezeit the shepherd who came down from the mountain because god told him to tell them to build a bridge. Showing some sense they thought he was nuts but asked him to prove it by lifting an unliftable stone. Miracles of miracles he lifted it with ease and some onlookers claimed they saw angels bathed in light assisting him. The bridge was henceforth built but hasn’t fared well as after innumerable collapses caused by a very persistent river today it only spans about three quarters of the river. Fail. The audio guide was hilarious telling the Benezeit tale but after that it nearly put me to sleep with the dates of every single collapse. Beautiful but boring.

Choo choo

Climb aboard the mini choo choo train. I’ve been wanting to get my mother (OK and myself) on one of these things since I knew they existed. Simply the cutest way to get around town. The locals sneer down their noses at you as we trundle past on the cobble stone streets but nothing could dampen my enjoyment. Even the English audio guide which is by a Frenchman whose accent is so thick I can barely understand him cannot dull my mood. I must be jinxed because only one of my earphones is working. The funniest tourist trap ever.

Lavender lavender lovely lavender

Avignon is part of the Provence area famous for growing Lavender. There is a very fragrant street in the town devoted almost entirely to the selling of lavender products. Aromatic goodness. The south of France is a much drier climate making it a perfect match for lavender who dislikes humidity.

If we had more than a day we could have gone on a tour to a lavender farm so instead I find some lovely bushes to indulge in on the grounds of my crappy hotel. When Mrs Beckham directed us to an industrial estate we thought she had finally lost her satellite marbles. Sadly she was all too correct. A run down establishment complete with algae green pool. It did however have a few nice plant specimens thriving despite neglect.

Unlikely lavender fairy

PLANT FILES

Sour Cherry

I had a boyfriend once with an unnatural attraction to this fruit. Perhaps it explains his attraction for me. It looks like a cherry but is almost impossibly sour. Popular in European and middle eastern cultures it is usually made into conserves rather than eaten whole.

Oleander – Nerium

Toxic yet beautiful. Used throughout the world as a garden and pot plant as they are salt, dry and drought tolerant. Perfect in this climate. Vibrant prolific long lasting flowers. Do not consume!

Gaura lindheimeri – Butterfly Bush

Banned from my (ex) nursery in Byron Bay because of its weedy seedy tendencies, this hardy little darling has pink or white flowers that look like butterflies. The bees love it and are buzzing around it this morning as I stick my camera I’m it. Loving it.

Rose of the day

And that’s it for little Avignon, lots to see but no time to see it.

NEXT STOP DIJON FRANCE

A few more pretties from the day

Hmm, not so pretty accommodation

Palais des Papes issue wine. They got the last life. The cork broke when I tried to open it. Bastards.

Nice – not so much

We were prepared for another long day in the car but Mrs Beckam had an extra special kind of hell prepared for us today. The scary thing is we haven’t learnt and are still trusting the choices she’s making for us. To get from Briancon in France to Nice in France we have to cross into Italy and back again. Love these open borders.

The day starts nicely enough and we head over another gorgeous and open pass called the Col d’Izoard, 2360m. A great drive. The strange thing about this day is that all the passes are open and it goes smoothly enough. We roll into a tiny town at lunch time and have a fabulous lunch at Cafe where the waiter tells us he wants to move to Australia and never come back, he just needs a job and a girl. Simples!

Then the day turns to shite. Mrs Bitchface Beckham takes us the scenic route to Nice even though we have clearly programmed in the fastest route. My poor brother, who is doing all the driving has the drive in hell in ahead. Upwards, downwards, upwards, downwards, upwards, downwards, upwards, downwards, upwards, around the most unbelievable death defying curves for about 4 hours. It’s exhausting and I’m just a passenger.

Confession time. I’m meant to be sharing the driving and I’m too chicken. That is lily livered, coward, big girls blouse scared. The car we’ve hired is a big heavy thing with no turning circle. Coupling that with driving on the wrong side of the road on the wrong side of the car in a manual I’ve completely chickened out and left my brother in the hot seat. Pathetic! I know I know I know!!!

So four hours of driving constant hair pin bends in a tank with no turning circle was a tough day for my bro. Too stressed to even take photos which was a shame because the scenery was as usual spectacular. The flowers I did spot (when my eyes weren’t glued to the road in abject terror) reminded me of how clever mother nature is. For the most part the roadsides are red poppies, yellow cytisus, pink somethings and occasionally blue somethings else. In the world of design contrast is the key. Using colours from the opposite spectrum of the colour wheel brings striking results. Most of the winding road was yellow and pink. Two colours you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing together as an outfit BUT fabulous as a plant combo. Sorry no photographic evidence to prove my point, too stressed. Mother knows best as usual.

The good news is we finally saw a Marmot. Actually we saw a whole bunch. From the outset of this drive from Zurich two weeks ago we have been seeing postcards about marmots and I was beginning to believe they were just a marketing ploy. A mythical cute furry animal to bring the people that never delivered. I’ve seen a million signs telling us to watch out for deer too and I’m convinced they don’t exist either. I’m pretty sure they’ve eaten them all. But the marmots are real. I haven’t seen marmot on the menu as the little guys are too fast to even photograph. These cute furries have burrows right next to the road and on this day we frequently spotted them ducking for cover. They look a bit like a cross between a badger, a beaver and meerkat. Pretty damn cute.

NICE
Nice, to be somewhat redundant is really not that nice. Actually it is a bit of a hole. The traffic getting in to town when we finally get off what I now think of as the devil’s road is bumper to bumper. Double parking is rife holding up the traffic flow even more. It’s also a bit dirty and grotty. Not matching up to my visions of the posh French Riviera. Every car is dinged and scratched.The Car Insurance must be hell.

When is a beach not a beach? When it’s Nice.

I don’t know about you but my definition of a beach includes SAND. They don’t have that here. A walk on the beach is more like a bush walk. Rocks, pebbles and stones. I thought of it like a foot massage. Masseur sandals au natural. I hobbled on the cobbles down to the sea and put my feet in the Mediterranean water. Still a bit chilly.

No sand castles here. Just some creative writing instead

How I hope Byron Bay doesn’t end up like this. It’s noisy and soulless.

Our super apartment is a block from the beach which is awesome and across the road from the local drug dealers which is not. Young and loud, they hang on the corner directly opposite my room all day and all night. Completely indiscreet, they have music blaring, yell at each other and have a noisy motor bike coming and going making deliveries and pick ups. I spent the sleepless hours fantasising about different ways to sabotage their motorbike.

Nice tour
To give my brother break a from driving we take the day long hop on hop off bus tour. The Barcelona one was a fantastic way to see that big city and seeing as this is posh Nice in the French Riviera I was expecting more. Not. It was still a great day but it is hard to believe that the Spanish version was way better. The buses are a bit tired and filthy. The Audio guide was broken in no less than five of the seats I sat in. The languages were on random channels on every bus which meant scrolling through until hitting the English jackpot. They were a bit light on with the stops information too making it easy to miss things. Despite that, still worth it. Spectacular views and better than attempting to negotiate the crazy Nice traffic.

Highlights
Olive Tree Park
A city park full of trees that must be more than a hundred years old. They are just an everyday part of life here. It is a busy Sunday and it is full of people picnicking, playing and sport and even a wedding. The trees are so old I just want to scream at them to back away and show some respect for their elders.

Of course I had to hug one

Cemetery – creepy creep
I never want to be buried. This tiny cemetery has some extravagant graves with grieving angels that really gave me the creeps. Mr Garibaldi, the hero of Nice is buried here in one of the least ostentatious graves.

Roman ruins – Ho hum, more exceedingly old roman ruins looking over the city.

Garibaldi plaza
The plaza is lovely but the restaurants are stupidly expensive. We found a cute little thriving alleyway just off the plaza and had lunch under a giant linden tree to the sounds of an accordion. Perfect!

Russian cathedral.
This little piece of Russia is very sparkly indeed. After the Crimean war Russia was banned from the Black Sea and so they negotiated some sort of deal (bribe?) with the leaders of Nice and now there is a large Russian population here and therefore this church. Gold and jewel encrusted wall to wall inside.

ABC Gardens
Not much to say, unremarkable church but great location high above the city and pretty gardens.

Missed
Matisse & Chagall.
Nice is a city of many museums, a week could be spent just artsy fartsing around. In our one day here I only had time to wistfully stand outside the Matisse museum and wave at Chagall’s as we bussed by. But never mind, there was plenty of other beauties to see.

And I can always find something to hug

NEXT STOP AVIGNON FRANCE

Briancon – beautiful but a bloody long way

Long driving days are a special kind of hell.

After much discussion we have named our GPS Mrs Beckham. She is English and a bit posh and quite frankly a bit of a bitch. I’m still convinced she dislikes us. Mrs Beckham seems to have access to information that we don’t and if she chooses to she lets us know if our chosen roads are closed. Her favourite trick seems to be choosing not to let us know when major passes are closed until we get there. The route we have been attempting to do is Le Grande Alps Routes, a famous road journey from Switzerland to the French coast.

Aosta was hard to leave, those ruins were something special, but onwards and upwards and downwards and upwards and downwards. You get the picture.

The first pass was the Petite Bernard Pass. We tried to do the Grand Bernard Pass on our way to Aosta but was sent under a tunnel instead. The winding road up the ascent of this pass was a bit of a goat track. The snow was still right up to the road in many places. I kept getting glimpses of white flowers underneath the pines along the way and thought it might be the elusive Edelweiss but it was instead Pulsatilla – wind flower. My bro was loathe to stop so I never got to get up close and personal. I did get to stop and witness the miracle of these little crocus sprouting out of patches of dead grass where the snow had only just melted and finally got to meet wild Gentian in person.

As we got higher the snow being next to the road became an understatement. We were driving through walls of ice much much higher than the car. When we stopped at its highest point of 2188 metres it wasn’t cold despite being surrounded by snow. We were having a great day!

After another long section we got to the next pass – closed! No tunnel, no option but to go back a ways and then the LOOONG way round. It added more than a couple of hours to the day. This is where our GPS was strangely silent. A few hours later we were much closer to Briancon and she sends us off another exit and to another pass that is closed!!! Another added couple of hours. Time to turn the GPS off. We finally rolled into the historic town of Briancon nine hours after we set off. The scenery was outstanding the entire time but enough already!!

The good news is I found something very cute to hug along the way. I could use one of these following me around with a keg full of the good stuff

BRIANCON
Everything is historic in Europe. Briancon is another town with a history of Romans and war. The surrounding hills are dotted with old castles and battlements. The people have again built around and on top of the ruins. We are only here for one night and after such a long day in the car we need to stretch out legs. Quite by accident we discover the most excellent local park. Tranquil pond, fish, bridge, exercise equipment, wide open spaces, what more could you want? Joy of joys it had a sign listing the names of the plant species. I love those. But bugger, instead of being in Botanical Latin it is the common french names. Close.

Plant files
A gorgeous weeping plant with drooping yellow flowers is the most eye catching at the moment. Reminding me greatly of Cassia fistula Golden Showers but instead it is Cytise in French or Laburnum anagyroides.

A few more pretties from the day

What’s a grimp and why is it in the forest?

Another exquisite rose

NEXT STOP NICE FRANCE

Getting some religion in San Sebastián

Au revior France, Hola Spain, sorry Hola San Sebastián sorry Donostia, ok Hola Donostia San Sebastián in Basque Country. Lesson one, do not presume one is in Spain just because one has left the southern border of France. Turns out people in this region are a little touchy about this particular subject. One is Basque Country and I have the magnet to prove it.

Oi vey, now that we have that straight we can relax and enjoy.

Our journey here from Luchon was a huge contrast from our previous adventures as we had private transport in a mini bus. No lugging our bags through a kilometre of roadworks for us today. This mode of travel cuts our travel time half which means more time in our destinations. No spontaneous picnics in stations or trains for us today. We’re doing it classy! The drive takes you through many bright yellow Canola fields. I wanted to share a photo of it but not one of us could get a decent photo of it out the window of a speeding car.

San Sebastián is a gorgeous little seaside town with the main downtown area situated on a narrow neck of land that has a surfing beach on one side and a calm port on the other. My old mate Jesus watches over the town from on high and we make the obligatory pilgrimage. Obviously we hadn’t walked far enough on yesterday’s alpine climb. The school excursion group that joined us was a bit of a turn off. The site is an old fortress and some of the cannons are left in situ. The young lads of the school group were being exceptionally mature and modelling the cannons as a extension of their obviously very large manhoods. Helped make the experience especially holy for me.

The view from the top is spectacular

To redress the balance I later went to the Cathedral San Sebastián. I was fortunate to be there when it was virtually deserted. As is usually the case there were two men begging at the door and I gave them each a euro. What can I say, I was overcome by the spirit of The Lord. Inside the stained glass is exceptional and depending on the time of day the sun shines through upon the religious sculptures. At the time of my visit the rainbow colours were dancing across a sculpture of Jesus looking down beatifically upon us. There was an old Spanish, sorry Basque lady on a pew beneath it looking up and I was genuinely touched to see how she was basking in the holy moment. There were a few disturbing artworks too, the most memorable being a painting of Mother Mary and the baby Jesus looking down serenely upon a group of “sinners” burning in hell, and last but by no means least a glass coffin with a replica of a dead post crucifixion Jesus or maybe it was St Sebastián. Despite these horrors the cathedral is obviously a place of quiet solace for many. My favourite sculpture was of mother Mary with a crown of flowers flanked by gold angels looking like the goddess she is and I sat quietly with her for a while. I left just as the priest turned up for confession. To my amusement he turned up carrying his cassock and put it on outside the cubicle with great difficulty whilst his waiting penitents looked on. I flirted with the idea of seeking absolution but I think I might have psychologically harmed the jolly looking fellow with my many many sins of the 25 years or so since my last confession. Just as I was leaving I discovered a little unlocked for gem. The pews come equipped a handbag hook. No need to sully ones favourite accessory with dirty church floor. To celebrate my religious epiphany I bought myself the hottest fashion item in town, a bracelet with the pictures of all the saints.
Our arrival in Donostia San Sebastián was celebrated with a visit to the local Pintxos restaurant (ie Tapas in Basque Country) and oh my goodness it was another religious experience. It’s all eaten standing up by the bar and you pay when you leave. For about 7 euros I had a leg of duck with currant sauce, a spicy meatball thingy and a glass of red wine. Gina got talking to a friendly fella at the bar who tried to explain what was in the meatball and even let her ever so daintily sniff his plate. We later found out she had sniffed the meatballs of the ex President of the Real Madrid Football team. All in a days work for our queen of marketing. Hobnobbing wherever she goes.
Dinner was more Pintxos except this time we went on a gastronomic journey. First course was at the “champion” of Pintxos restaurants Vergara, at the base of the Santa Maria church. This building is directly opposite the San Sebastián but is many blocks away in the old quarter. The restaurant has won many awards and with good reason. The long suffering staff were very patient as we try to understand the ordering system here where you pay as you take the food off the bar. I need to go on the record here as saying if you haven’t tried fried Foie in France or Spain sorry Basque country, you haven’t lived. Delicioso.
Then off we waddled to the next Pintxos restaurant Beti Hai where everything is 1.50 Euro and as we had experienced earlier in the day you pay as you leave. I had a sublime bread tomato cod garlic thingy and a glass of cold red wine, all for the princely sum of 2.60 euro. I could so live here. The etiquette is to throw your napkins and toothpicks on the floor as you go which rubbed this dyed in the wool Keep Australia Beautiful girl up the wrong way.
The night rolled on and off we trotted to the Havana Club, when in Basque Country you obviously go to a Cuban bar!

Oh that’s right this is meant to be a blog about plants, I was distracted by all the food & wine again, and I did find some here. The further south we travel the greener it gets and many trees actually have leaves on them here. A big plus. I found a beautiful garden by the sea with purple iris, alyssum, lobelia, dianthus, ornamental kale, violas, poppies and pansies. You’ll have to excuse my photography from this day as stupid me couldn’t work out how to get the camera off soft focus. So it all looks a bit dreamy, but that’s ok it was a dreamy sort of day.
I did get me some religion after all and I’ve got the bracelet to prove it.

Luchon, the Pyrenees, Fresh Air & Sulphur

A bright and sunny day dawned for our journey from Bordeaux to the Pyrenees. Two trains, one bus and five & a half hours later we are here. We were forced to do our now obligatory gourmet picnic on the train. Today it was prosciutto, avocado, foie gras with mushroom, sausanne, salad, rockmelon and ryvitas. All that was missing was a bottle of red tobut it was a bit too difficult on the train. The journey was more then pleasant as we traversed countryside featuring cows, ducks, the yellow of canola and even a solar farm. Later the train winds along what I think is the La Garonne River and eventually we spot the peaks of the Pyrenees in the distance.

Luchon, at the foot of the Pyrenees, is positively balmy despite its snow capped peaks. Spring is most definitely in the air. It’s the first time we haven’t worn our coats, at least while the sun is still out. Perhaps we can get a few photos without looking like puffy Michelin men. The Hotel Panoramic is our new digs. Whilst it is on the main street, we can still see the mountains out the window. A very quaint little town indeed. The town clock tower is directly opposite our room, so happily or unhappily, depending on your mood, the clock chimes the hour twice every hour and an extra special long one for midday. Turns out that was the least of our worries.

Later that night as we try to sleep, as you do, we instead get subjected to what I can only describe as a pack of unruly youths yelling, screaming, revving their dirt bikes and honking their car horns from midnight until dawn. Turns out there is nothing for young people to do here either. We’ve seen police in every town of France except this one so they went all night with impunity!! Bloody kids today, what is the world coming to? I’m not sure when exactly I made the transition to grumpy old woman but it’s henceforth officially confirmed. The little buggers even murdered a bed of violas.

After that wondrous sleepless night half of Team Intrepid; Jaime, Gina, Phill & me attempted a hike up a mountain. We like to pretend that we made it a quarter of the way but I think we are being a little generous to ourselves. It felt high as the fresh alpine air burned in our lungs and the town looked appropriately small in the distance as we looked down from on high. Given the circumstances I think we did OK. Lulu had to poke me just to get me out the door at all as my grumpy sleepless temper threatened to ruin my day. She and Vic did the smart thing by just having a little stroll with us to a delightful waterfall and heading straight for the town spa.

Speaking of which, Luchon is famous for its natural hot springs. Atop them is the very posh facility, LUCHON NATURAL VAPORARIUM that offers steams, spas, mud bath, massages, facials and all things indulgent. All with the tantalising aroma of sulphur to enhance your experience. Mmmmm.

I was a bit put off when I first walked in as neither the building nor the staff ooze friendliness. It is giant cavernous room with stairs leading up to all the different facilities and feels a bit like a hospital. The welcome mat isn’t exactly out. We were there on a Sunday which meant shorter hours and less services available but for 15 Euro we had two hours use of the Vaporarium and pool. A bargain! If you don’t have any thongs you can purchase a pair for 2 Euro. They are hilarious and make you walk like a duck. Worth the trip are alone. Even if you have some appropriate footwear leave them behind as you need to experience the wonder that is this footwear. They are now my must pack item.
There is a bit of a system to how it all runs and as most of the staff don’t speak english its easy to make a mistake. One of our team kindly did that for us earlier so we got the heads up. On paying for your package, you get a little ticket then go upstairs and give it to the bestowers of towel and robe. You then get directed to a change room where you go in the red door, get changed, then go out the blue door into the locker room. You put a euro in the locker and that gives you a wristband with the key attached to wear during your stay. Very attractive. Then you go into the spa area and put your towel and robe into an open locker that corresponds to the number of your wrist band. You need to have a shower before you get in or out of the caves or the pool. As you leave do the whole thing in reverse and the locker door kindly gives you your euro back. We waddled out feeling cleansed and relaxed yet desperate for a shower to wash out the combined perfumes of sulphur and chlorine. One little tip:- take off your jewellery. My lovely silver Irish Celtic cross and ring has changed from silver to gold, in the spa. Hopefully they will recover, or perhaps the steam has alchemist properties.

The nicest thing for me about Luchon is that as a horti I’m finally beginning to be spoilt for choice with plant spotting. Magnolias, violas, pansies, poppies, tulips, statice, daffodils are in flower everywhere here. A great find on my hike was yarrow growing wild by the side of the road and a species of Euphorbia characias that I’ve sold for about $20 in Australia. Even the weeds are pretty here. The balmy weather continues,the breeze is warm which seems incongruous when looking up the snowy peaks. We find out later it is indeed a balmy 27 degrees.

<a

Next stop San Sebastián

Bordeaux. Wine, food, wine, food, wine, food, wine

Sarlat to Bordeaux

It wouldn’t be our tour without some roadworks action. Our 900m journey from the hotel to the bus station is at least half of that distance us negotiating broken foot paths and workmen with our bags.
Two buses & a few hours later we are in lovely Niversac waiting for our train. It’s a one horse town with only a garage and the station but we still manage to buy some decent bottles of local red wine and fresh bread. Got to love this country. So with our Chateau de Servo and produce from yesterdays market in Sarlat we have ourselves another picnic in the station. Gourmet!!

BORDEAUX is much more cosmopolitan than I anticipated. Our accommodation Hotel Du Faisan is directly across the road from Gare de Bordeaux St Jean station. In other words Joan of Arc. It is a study in purple, brown and green velour. My shower doesn’t work but the hotel gives me a new room straight away.

Our arrival in Bordeaux is greeted yet more rain. The Big Chicken insists upon giving us the orientation walk around the city as that is his job but we are none of us in the mood and we trail a little despondently behind him. His job done, he leaves us in the city to eat so he can have some alone time. Fair enough! Despite the fact the we are not that hungry, in our search for soup we find ourselves in a posh seafood restaurant. Lulu & I get some soup AND a seafood platter. But this isn’t just any seafood platter, it’s got live crustaceans on it. Cockles, winkles, oysters, langoustine and two kinds of prawn. We discovered the poor little cockles were live when they resisted out attempts to remove them from their shells. Twas a tad traumatic. We retired to our hotel feeling a little ill, guilty and smelling like a fish market.

Day 2 we get ourselves a bit of culture with a visit to two different wineries. Clearly what we need in our lives is more wine.

Winery 1 Chateau Gravas, was a small boutique operation making a sweet white semillion that has been in the same family for 6 generations. You could tell the vines were old as they were gnarled and mossy. Being a confirmed Sauvignon Blanc girl I didn’t think it would tickle my fancy but it was delicious. The land is on top of a gravel and limestone shelf apparently ideal for grapes. To achieve just the right amount of sweetness in their grapes they introduce a type of fungal Botrytis grandly titled Noble Rot. The fungus punctures the skin, thereby removing some of the moisture and intensifying the sugars in the grape. Their methods are labour intensive as they selectively pick grapes off bunches many times in a season. In contrast to other forms of wine their yield is only one glass per vine as compared to the usual one bottle per vine. I briefly considered drinking less when I heard that but thankfully it was only a transient thought. Their barrel room was a real treat as it doubled as an art gallery. A double dose of culture!

Winery 2 Chateau Luchey Halde was a complete contrast. Only ten or so years old and owned by a school, it is a high tech modern operation with all the latest bells and whistles. There I got a new appreciation for the cost of wine barrels. Each barrel is made of oak, costs around 700 Euros and is only used for three years. They later get about 45 Euro when they sell them on. Their barrel room lacked the romance of the last but when you consider that each barrel contains around 900 bottles, that was a lot of wine. We got to taste a Semillion Sauvignon Blanc and a 2007 Cab Sauv Merlot. All good.

Afterwards since we clearly haven’t been eating or drinking enough Jaime Le Grande Poulet took us to the best meat joint in town where after cocktails we ate what felt like a whole cow and a flock of duck or whatever the plural for duck is. With yet more fantastic local Bordeaux red.

Next stop Pyrenees.

Sarlat, France

Cracking a nice bottle of red in a train station

Two days in Sarlat, Dordogne
I’ve nicknamed our guide Jaime “Le Grande Poulet” The Big Chicken (or the big cock) as we appear to me like little baby chickens obediently following in a line after our mother hen as he leads us back into the train system for our next destination. We all wish we had smaller bags as we lug our packs up and down endless stairs. They do not believe in elevators or escalators in this country.

We are fated it seems for every day to be hindered in some way by weather, traffic or transports issues. Today there is a strike on some trains so our journey is slightly more complex. It takes us 3 trains and 1 bus to get from Tours to Sarlat. We make the best of things by making a spectacle of ourselves having a picnic in the car park of one train station and cracking a fine bottle of French red wine in another. I’ve discovered that I love the actual travel part of the journey. The train and bus rides through this glorious countryside are too short.

Medieval Sarlat

Sarlat is even prettier than Tours. The buildings and cobblestone streets are positively medieval and Le Grande Poulet tells us is often used for location filming. Our accommodation, Hotel Montaigne, is a beautiful place and happily the bathroom is much bigger than a closet this time. My old friend Knobbius is represented in the hotel car park and I give him a good hug.

Knobbius Mossius Grandis love

Sarlat is the home of Foie Gras, unlucky duckies, but lucky for us. Dinner – ooh la la! Foie gras, then duck in orange sauce followed by lime sorbet. Everything washed down of course with some amazing local red wine.

The little known sport of duck riding in Sarlat

Mr Poulet has kayaking planned for us and not one of us even pretends to be disappointed when its cancelled. Instead we get a day off to relax, wander the streets and do some much needed washing. We stink! The group that launders together stays together. Even the most mundane of tasks are fun. I bust out some Latin music on my iPad to get us in the mood.

We are lucky to have a market of more foie gras, cheese, saucisson (french sausage), herbs, enormous wheels of nougat, walnuts, truffle aperitif, vegetables amid the historic buildings on this day. So of course we had a Kebab for lunch! Washed down with a nice bottle of french red. We’ve been dining fairly extravagantly every night so it was nice to have something a little less rich. We’re off for more unlucky duckies later.

Market stall

The second evening here we enjoy cocktails at a local bar where I enjoy an unusual looking margarita followed by the spectacle of the local drunks having a bit of a dust up. Turns out there are bogans everywhere.

Dinner is in a restaurant carved out of rock, just like a little hobbit hole, perfect for the vertically challenged such as myself. We are the loudest patrons and get some disapproving looks, especially when Louise loses her chair! Dinner is more foie gras, escargot, duck and sorbet. All for 20 euro. The owner gives me a tour of the restaurant later and the hobbit hole, not only has a grotto with underground stream but becomes a tower and ascends up three floors. I find a knight in shining armour on the stairs but the bastard ignores me despite my best efforts.

Hobbit hole restaurant

Knight in shining armour giving me the cold shoulder

I discovered the local gardens abloom with tulips, daffodils and fragrant white clematis climbing up a wall. The French have begun to embrace bamboo, and they’ve used it here in a garden amongst silvery artichokes. I’ve been seeing it more and more as I travel through this country. In pots, bamboo is a real pain as it is thirsty, disease prone and drops a lot of leaves. Every second pot looks dead. In the ground, even the so called clumping varieties tend to get much much bigger than anticipated and can become a real problem. Bamboo’s tropical foliage looks incongruous here. They’ll be sorry.

A happy find has been the Chinese Windmill Palm (Trachycarpus fortunei). I spotted it in pots in Paris and find two beautiful advanced specimens right near my hotel. It is one of those under used little known palms that deserves more notoriety. Perfectly suited to this climate as it originates from the cold mountains of southern China, Victoria and Tassie should take a look.

Chinese Windmill Palm

Next stop Bordeaux for more wine.

Tours & Loire Valley – and sore bottoms in France

Cherry blossom in Tours

TOURS greets us with cherry blossoms and I love this place immediately. At least I think that is what these dainty pretty pink blossoms on weeping trees are. I’m painfully aware of my ignorance in knowing these cold climate plants. Our tour leader informs us it is a 4km walk to our hotel then promptly walks across the street into our hotel. Cheeky sod. The Hotel Europe has been owned by the same family since 1845. A beautiful historic building filled with antique furniture and art. I opened the cupboard in my room to discover it was the toilet. The shower was in its own cupboard too. What’s not to love!

Tours is a beautiful historic village, (aren’t they all!) and we spend the evening walking the cobblestone streets. The town’s cathedral is a stop on The Camino and at night is lit with blue lights. We have dinner in a little restaurant without our guide and make fools of ourselves trying to decipher the menu and order. Only later we realise how late it is and we were eating dinner at 10pm.

Mother France she giveth, she taketh away, and she giveth again.

After yesterdays glorious weather my spirits were high and I was eager for an expedition out into the countryside. We rode by bicycle through the Loire Valley to Chateau Villandry. It was a long way! A forty kilometre round trip. It is a mostly flat journey but once again the weather was challenging. The fine day began to grey on us as we cycled through the fields until we found ourselves cycling head first into an icy rain. It was hard going pedalling through the chilling wind and spitting rain. The 20kms to our destination felt very far indeed. Eventually it began to clear and we could begin to enjoy the experience. The cycle path winds along between the Loire river and farmland. The fields were bare and freshly tilled, normally full of crops of corn but the absence of them meant we had a better view of the idyllic cottages and farmlets.

Lovely Loire

The final approach is along an avenue of those knobbly leafless trees I first encountered in Paris and am yet to identify, so henceforth they shall be known as Knobbius Mossius Grandis. Big knobby mossy trees. They remind me of something from the Day of the Triffids and I amuse myself by imagining they are going to come alive, take me out with one of those clubs and eat me whole with giant wooden teeth.

Knobbius Mossius Grandis

The first thing we did after cycling through the looming gauntlet of Knobbius Mossius Grandis was head for the first restaurant and order food and wine. We had earned it after all.

CHATEAU VILLANDRY was built in around 1536 during the Renaissance on the site of an old 12th century fortress. The chateau and gardens have experienced numerous changes over the years and are lovingly and thoughtfully maintained. The exploration begins inside the Chateau and I wander around in awe of its beauty. The sheer number and quality of materials used in its construction is breathtaking. The flooring is sometimes black and white marble checkerboard, sometimes terracotta tiles, sometimes timber parquet floor made of various woods. She is an old building and creaks beneath our every step, no sneaking around here. Each room is painted a different colour, the furniture is exquisite and the walls are lined with masterpieces. Religious art, botanical drawings and a rather disturbing painting of a dwarf by Goya that I at first thought was just a really ugly child! The journey through the house illustrates the different fashions in art, literature and architecture over its lifetime. The Moorish domed ceiling is a wonder.

Chateau Villandry Gardens

Then of course there are the gardens and typically once again they are not at their peak. In fact the gardeners are out there busily planting the annuals amongst the sculpted patterns of Box (Buxus) and Yew (Taxus baccata). The gardens are vast with seven different areas. Ornamental, Woods, Water, Sun, Maze, Herb and Vegetable Gardens. To best appreciate the sheer brilliance and complexity of the gardens you must climb to the top of the Chateau. It is up an alarming sloping winding staircase and the relief at reaching the top is dampened when you realise the journey down is even more treacherous. But oh my lord it is so worth it. The patterns remind me of celtic knots and I later learn that each design has a different meaning. Tender love, Passionate Love, Fickle Love (sounds like me) and Tragic Love. All that is missing is the Queen of Hearts and her playing card soldiers and I would be in Alice in Wonderland. The maze is Hornbeam (Carpinus sp) with which I am unfamiliar, and I couldn’t resist a go at it, but it was too easy to cheat as it mostly leafless.

I was impressed to learn that the gardens have been brought into the ecologically sound 21st century with a new head gardener committed to the environment. Organic cultivation methods are being introduced into both the edible and ornamental gardens. Techniques such as integrative pest management introducing predatory insects and parasites to wipe out adverse infestations and beehives are being employed successfully. Other improvements include Bordeaux mixture for the limes, low impact cultivation, organic fertilisers and green waste management.

France she giveth again and our cycle back was delightfully sunny so the distance didn’t feel nearly so great. However our triumphant return to the city was spoiled by a sudden squall of icy rain and hang on a second why does the rain sound like pebbles on my head. HAIL! She taketh away again. It wasn’t big hail but bloody hell we got hailed on. It was so ridiculous all we could do was laugh and take shelter under a tree which didn’t shelter us at all. Thankfully it was soon over. The bike trail in and out of Tours is clearly marked but we were unlucky to be passing through while the whole section was going through roadworks. The navigation through the heavy machinery and half completed path was the scariest part for all of us and a bit much to cope with at the end of such a journey. As we hobbled back to our hotel, our respective lady and man bits were more than a tad sore but we were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. Happy but ouchy little vegemites. Holy crap what a day!!

Paris:- Markets & cemeteries

Blue skies! All is forgiven Paris for my last day here. The Sun is out today, the sky is blue and Paris I love you. The absence of grey skies and chilling wind has improved my mood no end and even though my feet have had enough there is nothing that could keep me inside on such a day.

There is no experience as French as a Sunday morning vegetable market. It is my second time in such a market here and it never stops being thrilling. We have fantastic farmers markets in Byron but this puts them all to shame. A veritable cornucopia of vegetables alongside seafood, cheeses, meat and pâté. White asparagus is a revelation as is the cockles, enormous oysters and scallops, tomatoes of every colour, artichokes, strawberries. Everything is so big it looks like it is on steroids. I long to have access to a kitchen for just one night so I can cook with and sample some of these extraordinary ingredients.

The famous Cimetiere du Pere Lachase is not too far from my hotel. Anyone who is anyone is buried here. Authors, musicians, artists, scientists and last but not least wealthy people. Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Marcelle Marceau, Isadora Duncan, Jim Morrison and my personal hero Samuel Hahnemann, the father of Homoeopathy. It is estimated that more than one million people are buried there and a further two million bones are stored in the Ossuary. The Ossuary recently became so full they removed the bones, cremated them, then returned them to their rest. It is a complex winding place and as I read the map and consider making pilgrimages to certain graves I find in myself an antipathy to that idea and instead wander idly around. A decision I am later supremely grateful for as I watch my fellow tourists walk with their heads down poring over their maps rather than simply enjoy the ambience. Cemeteries have always puzzled me as I do not understand the concept of worshipping the dead and hence the waste of space needed to immortalise their bones. But here, people who have made a significant contribution to society and culture have their place and I can appreciate the need for this sanctuary dedicated to them. It is peaceful here, the graves are old, mossy and littered with dead flowers. The carvings and statues alone are spectacular and I feel I am walking through history. I leave without visiting anyone of so called importance but feel privileged to have walked amongst these bones of the people of history.

And just in case it has been on your mind where the villain Sauron from Lord of the Rings is buried, I found him here.