Homeward bound

The last few days…

Firstly, relating my last 24 hours in France. Written at CDG airport on 22June13.

I started yesterday (Friday 21June) in Dompierre sur Mer, near La Rochelle, 450km from Paris. Mary was in Paris with her old friend Josie. Our plan: I had to get to Paris to reunite with Mary and then we three, Mary, Josie and I, had to get to CDG airport this morning.

Mary had booked a small hotel for one night for the three of us near the Latin Quarter so she and Josie had only to move a short distance from the apartment that she, Josie and Peggy had stayed in for a week.

Getting to Orly airport (car drop point), southern edge of Paris, me, alone, in “rental” car

No real problem. Had Tom Tom nav system, backed up by iPad. Left 0800, in drizzling rain, headed NE. Being a tightwad, I was reluctant to refuel the car if possible (the trick is to get it back to the depot with as little fuel as possible in the tank as there is no refuelling charge, unlike normal rentals) so calculated that I already had enough fuel to go the distance. Besides, I was aware that the motorway toll charges would be around 40€! Consequently I travelled at 100-110 kph instead of the permitted 130kph. My onboard food supplies consisted of three Spanish peaches and a pack of five Mars Bars. Readily at hand was cash to pay the tolls in case my card was not accepted (it wasn’t).

The Tom Tom made the trip feasible, bearing in mind that I had no human companions and had never driven the route before. It was relatively easy until about 20km from the target when a convoluted route is required to turn through 180° on various motorways to access the one-way streets within the Orly airport complex. What a mess that area is! If you have to go there or from there by car, reconnoitre it thoroughly by map before setting off. Car hand over time: 13:30. No problem.

A small bus from the car depot dropped me and backpack plus my two other bags (one containing some items of Mary’s, other containing fishing clothing and equipment) at Orly Sud, which is connected by rail shuttle to the nearby RER (Paris outer rail system) station of Antony. Fare from Orly to Saint Michel Notre Dame: 11.30€, by shuttle and RER line B. On the way into Paris on the train I was able to monitor my progress northward on the iPad, thus confirming that I was travelling in the correct direction. Also, I was able to have a written dialogue with Mary using Message, telling her of my progress. She was using her iPod connected to the Hotel WiFi, which she’d set up herself. Love the iPad and iPod combo!

My target station, Saint Michel-Notre Dame arrived, as expected. As is common on Parisian rail stations, there is no provision or foresight for people carrying baggage. The RER station is about three levels below ground, so by the time I emerged into the daylight I was cursing the French rail station facilities for forcing me to climb stairs carrying my bags instead of wheeling them. I knew that I was somewhere near Boulevard San Michel but as there are numerous exits from the warren of pedestrian tunnels below my feet, my precise location when I emerged was unclear at first. Again the iPad came to the rescue, showing me precisely where I was and also that the hotel was five minutes walk away, just along the BSM. Several minutes later I was i our room at the Hotel St Pierre, our base for the night, and reunited with Mary and Josie. Surprisingly, our room had a view of the Eiffel Tower, if you opened the window and leaned out a little.

Room with a view, fifth floor, tiny lift

That evening, the longest day in the northern hemisphere, we three walked the surrounding streets which were thronged with people. We discovered that there were many musical acts occurring on the street around our part of the city and later discovered that the proliferation of musicians was connected with the summer solstice.

One of the many street bands nearby.

After dinner at a brasserie in the Latin Quarter we returned to our digs to find a jazz band noisily amusing the many patrons right below our fifth floor window. While the music was enjoyable the news from hotel management that it would go on until 1:00am was not.

View of the street below from our window.

Morning of 22June13. Location: Paris. Task: get the three of us and our luggage to CDG airport by 10:30am.

As we were five minutes’ walk from the RER station St Michel Notre Dame, which I’d arrived at yesterday and as we were also self portable, each hauling one wheeled bag, I opted for the rail travel option, which was cheaper than a taxi, and possibly more reliable. (On numerous occasions I’ve been the victim of taxi no-shows or taxi late and nobody knows whether it will arrive on time syndrome.) The RER B train services CDG airport (among other places) and is directly accessible from the station near our hotel.

The ladies were ready on time and we trundled the bags up the newly washed footpaths of the Boulevard San Michel, then dragged/lifted/clunked them down the many stairs to the ticket office and stations below. Why? Why don’t they put in a simple small single file ramp on each stairway as I’ve seen in other places?

Tickets secured we waited on the platform for 15 minutes before discovering that the RER B train uses the platform lower down (sign showing this obscured from our location due to bad design; only discovered after I got suspicious that train had not arrived and walked further down the platform to do a more detailed recce). Yes, I’d built in a reserve to our timings so this loss of 15 minutes was not a problem, and in fact we still had 15 minutes more up our sleeves.

Entrained for CDG and on the way was able to help a lady from the USA in the same carriage by accessing the Internet as we trundled along (I had retained a cellular Internet connection via SFR in case of issues) and finding out that United Airlines uses Terminal 1, not Terminal 2 as we were headed for (CDG has two train stations, unusually for France logically called 1 and 2, for the respective terminals).

Terminal 2 undergoing modification (so, what’s new?). Detoured around the works and found the check-in counter where we were looked after well by a Cathay Pacific employee and checked in without hassle, two hours before flight time.

Hong Kong; written 25/26June

Arrived on time 06:45 23June. With no need to hurry, bags and new cash in hand we headed straight for the Airport Express, retaining continuous free and fast WiFi from the airport onto the train into the city. No stairs. All escalators or smooth marble floors. 100HK dollars to Central Station in 25 minutes. Out of Central into a cab, at the T Hotel 15 minutes later where we found to our delight that our rooms were available for occupancy immediately, at no extra cost! This alone was most welcome as the combination of overnight flight and jetlag were wearying.

The T Hotel is different, being part of the Hong Kong Government’s training facilities for young people preparing for a career in the hospitality industry. With only 30 rooms, it is tiny in comparison with other similar standard hotels in this teeming city. Our room was huge and well appointed, with a view to the south west via an enormous window which allowed us to look directly down into the chaotic plant life cladding the steep slope leading to the road and buildings clinging to the water’s edge. Vessels large and small were traversing the sea and in the middle distance several islands were prominent. Very weary, we gladly hopped into the oversized bed.

The room

The view (being the wet season, cloudy days were the norm)

Two full days were spent visiting a small proportion of the attractions of Hong Kong, getting around by bus, taxi and ferry.

All that is left to do now is kill some time in the city before once more heading for the airport. Here in Hong Kong there is an airline check-in service at two of the city’s rail stations and at one of these we’ll get rid of our luggage and pick up our boarding passes. At the airport we’ll rendezvous with our friend Jim (husband of Josie) who will be arriving at that same airport from Paris and then departing with us on our flight home to Australia this evening.

And so this year’s big trip ends.

Kev

My French family

Written at Dompierre-sur-Mer, 17 and early morning 18 Jun13

I’m sitting in the dining room of a home in a small village near La Rochelle, France. I’m a guest, and treading as lightly as possible while soaking up the ordinary and interesting ways of life of a French couple slightly younger than Mary and me whose two children, like ours, have flown the nest. At the same time I’m trying to participate in and contribute to the bustle of life in the house. Mary is in Paris in an apartment with old friends.

Last Wednesday Mary and I drove the 400km or so to Dompierre-sur-Mer from just south of the Spanish border, on the way bypassing Bordeaux, a big and busy city. Without detailing the circumstances of how we came to be here, it is sufficient to say that we had been invited by Alain and Claude to stay with them, Mary for two nights before going to Paris, and I for a week more. While here I am being looked after royally by our new friends, whom we had never met before, and of course Alain and I are fishing (with success) whenever the opportunity arises. He has taken a week off work while I’m here.

Language difficulties were foremost in the minds of both couples at the time of our arrival but in the event our hostess and host have proven totally adequate in speaking English (somewhat hesitantly but the message comes through) and I have been learning French as quickly as I can.

La Rochelle and the nearby Isle de Ré have been pleasant surprises to Mary and me. As far as I can tell they are completely off the tourist trail for Australians, although the residents of Esperance in Western Australia, which is twinned with a village on the island, may disagree. This may be a good time to throw in some pics taken since last Wednesday.

That's Alain next to Mary, and Claude, closest to the camera.

Mary about to board the TGV for Paris at La Rochelle on Friday. Alone but in first class! Alain at right.

Alain and I launched our kayaks shortly afterward.

And caught fish.

A kayak fisherman’s view of the massive bridge to Ile de Ré at dawn during our second fishing trip.

There are discussions every night over dinner about English and French words and phrases. Plenty of laughs, surprises, and thumbing through the huge French-English paper-based dictionary. Claude is an inexhaustible cook, turning out wonderful meals for lunch and dinner, usually with fish we've caught, or produce she has freshly acquired at the various markets. Daughter Pauline with her Cuban born husband Randy and one month old daughter Mia visit the family home almost daily. And every day I get to visit the nearby supermarket and boulangerie, alone, trusted to top up the family’s food, drink and other needs, provided on a list for me by Claude.

I get to accompany the family, which includes Hector and Ulysses on the usual walk along the tow path of the disused canal nearby. The ducks in the canal are fed with old baguettes by Claude, every day.

A pecher (fisherman) is always present when Claude walks the dogs. Much serious conversation goes on between the strollers and the fisherman. Unfortunately I can participate only marginally in the discussions.

My next challenge for this trip is to return the car to a facility at Orly airport, some 400 km away, on Friday, alone. Then to get into the centre of Paris by train with our remaining luggage, meeting Mary at the hotel we have booked. We depart for Australia via Hong Kong on Saturday.

I hope you have enjoyed reading about France.

Kev

San Sebastian, mainly

Written at Hondarribia, Spain, 11Jun13

From where we sit, sipping our evening wine on our balcony, we’ve been wondering about the prominent stone building directly east of us, on high ground overlooking the town of Hendaye in France and the bay separating us. It’s alone, in a park environment and usually presents as a dark grey shape on the horizon, except today when it’s been lit up by sunlight. It’s probably four km away in a straight line, I’d say, and today we visited it.

But first let me relate the events of our visit to San Sebastian, just west of Hondarribia, yesterday. Having heard and read many superlatives of travellers who’d visited San Sebastian, and also as our first grandchild has been named Sebastian, we just had to visit while the opprtunity was on offer.

Hondarribia (blue dot) to San Sebastian.

On the iPad map we noticed that there was a “back road”, along the mountain spine, starting just west of Hondarribia. This seemed an attractive approach proposition as it offered the possibility of views on the way and of also dodging the motorway traffic. And so it proved. Much bigger than we’d envisaged, San Sebastian was daunting as we approached its centre. Street carparks there were plenty of, but somebody else had got there before us.

San Sebastian.

Txofre Car Park (underground) came to our rescue and we found a slot but next had to make sure that we could find our way back to it, and back to the exact floor and bay number. Having solved these problems (yep, iPad again), we headed on foot for the iconic beachside promenade, crossing the centre bridge visible on the image.

Decorative element on the bridge (pic by Mary)

Mary on the promenade. The lifesaver tower is included for the benefit of our friends involved in Australian SLSC activities.

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza being harrassed by fierce fish (!) on the promenade. Pic by Mary.

The beach and its backdrop. Pic by Mary.

As you can see, the sun had come out. So we opted to splurge on lunch taken at a promenade café. The cost wasn’t too outrageous but I can say that the water cost more than the wine, presumably because it was enclosed in clear plastic with a screw top.

From the iPad map we could see that part of the town had a very dense street pattern so we made our way back to the car through that area. This turned out to be the Old Town, brimming with local life and featuring a glorious plaza, typical of that in many Spanish cities.

Plaza de Constitution. Mary with red handbag at left.

The area where we’d parked the car was full of life also, as we found when approaching the car park from the northern bridge side. Many young families were frolicking in the several recreation areas we passed but the traffic buildup was such that I dreaded trying to get out of the place. In the event, it all went pretty smoothly, leaving us with a pleasant final feeling for San Sebastian. Well worth a visit, but plan arrival and departure carefully. There are plenty of accommodation options in the Old Town, but little chance of parking a car there.

We ate in for a change last night, after our big day at San Sebastian, and slept until after 9:00am. The large building several kilometres away I mentioned in the first paragraph intrigued us so we decided to find out more about it. Getting there and back by car was fairly easy though it entailed crossing two international borders and weaving our way through densely settled Hendaye, Hondarribia’s French neighbour.

The building turned out to be Chateau Abbadia and seemed so interesting that we paid the entrance fee and weren’t disappointed. You can read more about it here but here are a few of our pics from the visit.

This is the part we can see, in the distance, from our balcony. That’s Mary on their balcony.

Mary on the balcony, different viewpoint. Note the elephant head carving.

View across to our somewhat humbler accommodation. We’re at the bottom right of the third apartment block from the left in the centre of the pic.

Front entrance pic, by Mary

Finally, we’re leaving Basque Country tomorrow after almost two weeks. We've certainly found Basque folk to be friendly and their terrain to be very beautiful, if somewhat damp at the moment. We wish them well in their attempts to retain the many positive aspects of their culture.

Here, at Hondarribia, on Spain’s border with France, the Basque flag flies proudly and alone in the port.

Thanks for reading

Kev

Hondarribia's medieval festival

Written 10June, Hondarribia, Spain

Sunday 09June. Even though the rain continued this morning, occasional brightening of the sky encouraged us to get out of the apartment for a tour of the old town, whose tallest spires were visible from our apartment, about one kilometre away.

Rather than brave the possibility of getting wet on the way we decided to use the local bus service whose schedule and route we’d previously committed to the iPad, by direct photography at the bus shelter just outside our apartment. The image of the route was easily used to show the bus driver our intended destination and thus the fare, and we were on our way.

Unknowingly, we’d chosen the best possible day to visit the old town. Clambering up the various levels of steps we came upon stalls being set up or in operation; their operators dressed in medieval-style clothing, but charging 21st century prices. In effect the entire old town had been transformed into a medieval setting, with market stalls, street entertainment, kids’ amusements and community dancing underway. The sun burst through too so we spent a pleasant several hours wandering the narrow lanes, snacking on various offerings and drinking the odd glass of refreshment. Notably, a very large number of locals and their children attended which added to the colour and vibrancy of the occasion. Some pics from Mary and me:

Narrow street in the old town

Tiny St Nicholas Bar was crowded, but a good refuge. Here the jovial and hard working owner is pouring us two ciders in Basque style.

View northward from the old town. See, some blue sky!

Bagpipes, drums, even a “tartan” kilt on the tall guy.

Giant Basque dancers, who whirled around to music played by their attendants. Very well done, we thought.

Seller of various preserved meats.

Kids and a dad or two playing a fishing game.

Street scene with giant dancer making his way through the crowd

Baker and his products

Drinkers, including your correspondent, in the bar overflow area of San Nicolas.

Rain’s stopped, and we’re heading for San Sebastian today, a little SW of here, but returning here later.

Thanks for reading

Kev

The rain in Spain, really quite a pain

Written 09Jun13

10:30am. Hondarribia, Spain. Arrived here yesterday, after booking an apartment online several days ago and then dealing with the non-English speaking owner by email when he was in Milan and we were in St Jean PdP. Google Translate helped us yet again (remind me to tell you how it saved us €70 the other day). Finding the precise location of the apartment was initially difficult as the address provided was not known by mapping databases under the street name given and did not display on any maps we had. Fortunately the owner had an iPhone and after some coaching by me he was able to send me a precise digital location which was usable by our iPad. We then agreed to the deal, four nights, a little more than we have paid in other places, but it was right opposite the beach, and we longed to see the sea again, and walk on the beach in bare feet, in warm sunshine. The owner’s mother and aunt settled us in to the one bedroom self contained apartment, with balcony while indicating to us their hopes that the grim weather evident right then might improve.

And it is on this (covered) balcony that I'm writing this now, overlooking the beach and the bay. Grey rhymes with bay and that's what it’s like, and raining, and cool, much like yesterday. See what I mean:

That’s France, just over the bay, and the border is only some 500m away. Our car is the closest one.

Wait, there's a small bit of brightness in the sky :-).

There was a bit of drama here overnight, as I discovered when I went out to see if the tiny alimentary a couple of minutes walk away was open (we needed bread and milk and it was closed yesterday). Our apartment is on floor one in a building of 11 floors; one of several such identical buildings in a row built on a narrow strip of land bounded by a seaside road on one side and vertical cliffs about 100m high on the other. These cliffs are prone to landslip, as I saw this morning when walking to the alimentary when a rush of earth and vegetation cascaded into the narrow space between the base of the buildings and the base of the cliff. This narrow space is allocated to car parking. What happens when there’s a landslip? At the base of the cliff, all the way along, are voluminous concrete walled slip catchers which gradually fill with stuff and are presumably cleared from time to time, or are supposed to be.

The slip system failed overnight, a night in which the rain continued. Not a catastrophic failure, but one sufficient to provide one car owner an unwanted Sunday morning shock. The car parking butts onto the walls of the slip catchers and some of them are roofed with green painted galvanized iron, held up by cantilever supports. Fortunately, at this time of year there aren’t many cars parked there so only one was affected. See what I mean?

Bugger!

The rain eased a little about 11:00am so we resolved to catch the local bus the short distance into the Old Town and then leave the rest of the day to chance. Little did we know that a pleasant surprise awaited us, and the weather improved too! More about that later.

Thanks for reading

Kev

Perched on the Pyrenees

Written 06June, at St Jean Pied de Port

With another hot day forecast for today, and another fairly late start we got the washing into the washing machine before setting off with packed lunch, by car toward the SE. Mary was keen to take a small walk in the country so that was our initial plan and flexibility was built in because we had the car available.

Yesterday I’d found a likely circuit of about 4km for today’s walk, starting at the village of Bastide a short drive from our base. Aerial reconnaisance (via satellite view) showed it had a mix of rural and village environments, had no steep sections and a couple of bridges crossing small streams. Pretty, in other words, especially on such a day as this.

The planned circuit. Critical points were recorded as “bookmarks” on the iPad for instant recall and viewing as needed.

A shady place to leave the car was found and we set off, using only the iPad to navigate. The first navigation problem was encountered almost immediately when an important part of the selected route, as displayed on the map, was found on the ground to be gated and running through private property. This is a common problem with paper maps, which in any case have nowhere near the detail of digital maps. Taking a quick look at the map on the iPad I quickly found an alternative and we were back on track in a flash. Problem reported to Apple via the simple process provided.

By Mary. The countryside is lush after quite heavy rain in early spring.

By Mary, who really liked the garden at this fairly typical home just outside a village.

A church spire can be a good aid to navigation. About half way through the amble.

We arrived at the church right on noon and its bells pealed, probably not for our arrival. This small church’s design demonstrated a possibly defunct local custom. In most if not all Basque country churches we've visited there are inside galleries constructed along the back and sides, sometimes two extra floors high. Mary queried the reason for this with a local expert and was told that for attendance at services the sexes were segregated. Men used the above-floor galleries while women used the ground floor. This particular church had separate elevated side entrances outdoor leading to the galleries.

So it was noon, hot and we’d just walked four km, returning to our car from the opposite direction to that when we left it. The small hotel was open for business and we each ordered an icy cold beer which we sipped and savoured on the shaded terrace, while pondering our next adventure.

Nothing like a cold beer on a hot day!

Taking a good look at the map, I discovered that the D18 road, running past the hotel where we were sitting led south toward those mountains we could see in the second pic above. It then linked with the D301 which worked its way back to St Jean PdP. Clearly, this route was likely to provide great views and the distance for a car wasn’t great so we set out without prevarication and didn’t regret it.

The selected route. The Spanish border can be seen only a few km away at bottom left.

On the way up.

As lunch time was upon us, we first looked for a picnic location “par excellence”. Given that we were climbing steeply and the sky was clear the chances were pretty good and soon we had pulled into an unoccupied parking area at the top of a big climb. We were the only people around and the views were amazing.

Our car parked in the parking area. We’d walked away into the shade to eat our lunch.

How’s this for a lunch venue?

We were the only people around at first but then after ten minutes or so another car pulled up near ours and the three occupants walked toward our shaded possie. The first of these interlopers carried three baguettes and somehow did not seem French, so on a whim I directed a question to him in Australian. Sure enough, he and his lady friend were Aussies and they were accompanied by a French guy who could speak English. We had a pleasant few minutes speaking our native tongue on this plateau in the Pyrenees, the first opportunity that we’d had in over two weeks, except to each other, of course.

Shaded lunch spot, from the car park area.

After lunch we moved off, giving a farewell wave to the other group who had positioned themselves for a shady sit-down lunch just a little further up the slope than we had. Barely had we gone two hundred metres when we came across several enormous bearded vultures (lammergaiers) soaring on the breeze being drawn up the slope. This confirmed for me that the huge birds that I had seen earlier in the week were not Golden Eagles, but vultures. We parked the car and watched with a group of German motorcyclists as these impressive birds drifted past our precipitous viewpoint.

Where the vultures soared.

We moved on. Dramatic scenery just kept arriving around every corner and soon we were up onto an alpine meadow environment where occasional flocks of sheep could be sighted huddled around stark rocky outcrops. Hardly any other vehicles or people were encountered and the sky continued to be clear although hints of forthcoming thunder storms were evident.

One flock, alone on an unfenced alpine meadow.

Raining below us.

By Mary. Two horses keeping close company when no others were to be seen. High on the alpine meadow.

Belled cow, up on the alpine meadow. The tinkling noises of the cow bells could be heard clearly as they grazed peacefully several hundred metres away.

The journey back down the mountain and through the valley was no less dramatic, especially as the road suddenly narrowed to a single car width, but still bitumenised. Fortunately oncoming traffic was almost non-existent and the scenery remained dramatic to the last. This was a road trip selected purely by examining a map and taking a chance. One of the best short road trips we’ve ever done.

Thanks for reading

Kev