Days Six and Seven

So – Thursday morning and Monaco. I said that my dream had been to hear the noise of Formula One cars bouncing off the buildings of the Principality, a dream slightly lost by the changes to the rules.

When we got off the train in Monaco – an early morning train that was rammed from Nice onwards – the Monégasques had gone to a lot of trouble to get people to the part of town they needed to be in. Signs on ever corner and helpful, friendly police everywhere. Sadly we discovered out tickets let us into only one small part of the circuit and absolutely nowhere else. Fortunately for us our little bit was pretty cool.

On the walk down from the station to our corner we were walking along a typical city shopping street only different from any other city by the frequent PortaLoos on the pavement that they were thoughtful to provide. As Tania was test driving one of these PortaLoos all hell broke loose! The noise was unbelievable! No – not Tania. Some racing cars going flat out around the streets. Of course, we couldn’t see the bloody things at all from where we were – but we sure knew they were out there somewhere.

We got to our stand – for the aficionados, between La Rascasse and Virage Anthony Noghes and opposite the pit road entrance – and were bombarded with noise. And I mean NOISE!!! Ear-aching noise.

The cars were Formula Renault 3.5 – a feeder class for potential Grand Prix drivers and man those things are loud, loud, LOUD. At every single gear change the unused petrol in the exhaust pipes explodes like a very loud gunshot. As Noghes is a slow corner onto the start/finish straight each car was making at least three gear changes in quick succession – bang, bang, bang. They hurt the eardrums, they did, as the exhausts were pointing straight at us.

We could have done with some ear plugs and were just slightly miffed that we had left dozens of them at home.

As is the way of the world a man came round selling ear plugs just as the new, quieter F1 cars came out but we bought some anyway and wedged them in the most appropriate orifices we could think of! I had to tell Tania she'd got it wrong . . .

So here’s the deal with the Formula One cars this year. Yes – they are definitely quieter than last years’ and are most definitely not as loud as the Formula Renault jobbies. But – they are not quiet. Not at all. You wouldn’t want one of them driving down your road at two in the morning. And they do not sound like any Dyson I ever heard or used - like I know how to use a Dyson.

A Caterham chases a Ferrari towards the start line

As we were watching practice all we had were the cars coming out randomly, doing a few laps and then going back in. Long before the one-and-a-half hour session was over I have to admit I had the most unexpected and strange feeling. 

I was bored. And although she never said as much because she wanted me to enjoy “my day” I could see that Tania's eyes were glazing over so I decided we would leave at lunchtime. In my teens I could bore for England talking about Formula One, knew what rose-joints were, knew the length and width of every car and even knew where the drivers bought their string-sided y-fronts! But I guess now the feeling has gone.

But, during the time we were there I got to hear the cars on the track, so I can knock that off my bucket list. And I saw all the current drivers out on the track and walking to and from the pits just across from us. Lewis Hamilton was the cool customer who turned up in his civvy clothes seconds after practice had actually started when all the other drivers had arrived some minutes earlier and already wearing their firesuits. It was all I could do to stop myself waving like a girl and shouting out, "Cooee! Lewis! Cooee!!"

Practice has just started and look who's arrived!

Of the cars, the Williams’ look great in their white Martini livery and – surprisingly – the Ferraris look a lot brighter on telly or in photos than they do in reality – in fact they somehow manage to look quite dull.

Kimi Raikkonen enters those pit thingies!

On our way back we called into Cannes and, by chance, found ourselves eating lunch in a restaurant opposite where the Cannes Film Festival takes place. Never saw anyone of any importance, just hordes of people lined up waiting to cheer at whoever. Oh – and a Japanese couple doing a piece to camera just beside us whilst we were eating.

But there were loads of posers and, it has to be said, dozens of very pretty girls with the longest legs I ever saw.

Friday we went out with no clear idea what to do with ourselves. Don’t the days with no plans always work out to be the best??

Started at a factory that makes sweets, jams and chocolates out of flowers. Far, far more interesting than it sounds and whilst there we were fortunate enough to bump into an English couple who suggested we visited a place called St-Paul de Vence. Neither of us had ever heard of it but thought it might be worth a punt after the description we were given.

St-Paul de Vence

I’m telling you, if you haven’t been there and ever find yourself in this part of France be sure to include this on your travels. It is a walled medieval town with tiny narrow lanes weaving through it. Most of the shops are either selling tourist guff or art – but that’s pretty much what you’d expect, isn't it, and the art shops were especially good. Who should turn up just as we arrived at the village?? Floella Benjamin, that’s who! If you have found yourself wondering whatever happened to her – something I pondered on an almost daily basis – here was the answer. She turns up in foreign tourist areas to surprise visiting Brits and watch their faces as they try to hide their “Oh! She’s still alive!” thoughts.

Lunch - French style

 Found ourselves a cool little restaurant for lunch – great food, crap service – which gave Tania a chance to hit the vino again! I think she’s got a habit – but we’ll keep that to ourselves, ok?

Tania and a rosé

Anyway, so as to give her a chance to walk it off we made tracks for Mougins, a little village – again on a hilltop – that we’ve both been to before and in Tania’s case, many times. Another artists enclave – we just can’t help ourselves – and a beautiful little village where I’d move to in a heartbeat – if only I could stump up the one point five million needed to buy the cheapest pad there. Not even train drivers can afford that – hard to imagine as that is.

‘Twas a really good day for us – and now, as I write this twaddle we are relaxing as tomorrow, Saturday, we start a 650 mile dash to Rouen, hoping to arrive on Sunday afternoon.