Days Two to Five

It has occurred to Tania and me over the past few days that this holiday is not what we envisaged it was going to be. It is far removed from what we’d originally planned and as we altered it piecemeal fashion neither of us thought to look at the bigger, overall picture.

Let me explain.

We first arranged this over a year ago. Tania booked for us to stay in an apartment at a resort between Grasse and Cannes for ten days. With that booked I applied for tickets to see the Formula One practice on the Thursday so that I could achieve my dream of hearing the noise of the cars bouncing off the buildings, having walked the circuit when we were there just over eighteen months ago.

A couple of days to drive here, ten days lazing about on the Riviera and three days to drive back sounded ideal to us.

First and biggest setback was when the property company said the apartments were all closed for refurbishment until July. We weren’t going to have to pay for staying there – a long story – so now were faced with paying to stay in hotels. We settled on three days in Grasse with a longer steady drive down and an even longer drive back, but still with the Monaco GP practice included.

Setback two was that there was no way I could know when I booked my tickets that they were going to make the Formula One cars the quietest ever from this year. One character described the noise as like a Dyson! Bum!

Vézelay

So, days two, three and four have all been a blur of driving, eating, sleeping and being tourists. Using a book called Back Roads France as a rough guide we have visited places such as Autun, an ancient town founded in the days that we now call BC which had Roman ruins a-plenty, Vézelay which is perched atop a hill, a tourist trail admittedly but a place where we had some of that divine French food we love so much, and, trust me, is worth a visit.

Nom, nom, nom!

The past couple of nights have been spent in the town of Die. We have worn out the gags such as today we are going to die . . . in reality it is pronounced dee. I have been aware of it for years and have always wanted to visit without knowing why. As it was recommended in our trusty guide we decided to make this the place for the longer stay.

Our guide tells us, “With its brightly shuttered houses, squares bordered by cafés and courtyards with villagers playing petanque Die reminds visitors of Provence. The steep cobblestoned streets are lined with bars and stores full of the aromas of local produce . . . “

I’ll share a little secret with you now. Not a word of that is true – or if it is we never saw any of it. When I read that quote to Tania she just laughed.

Choosing to stay there was a mistake, no doubt about it.

It is a rundown dump of a place with more than its share of misfits and ne’er-do-wells as inhabitants.

Now, I don’t want this to sound all negative. We’ve had some good moments, odd little things that are as pleasant as they are unexpected such as turning up at a restaurant unwittingly fifteen minutes after they closed. They took pity on us, I guess, and still managed to rustle up a lunch for us.

And getting to the butterfly farm, seeing all we wanted to see and then heading to the exit just as a coach load of French pensioners turned up was exquisite timing.

I guess, too, we will never forget the hotel proprietor who fell so in love with Tania when he learned she drove the English equivalent of their TGV trains and that she spoke pretty good French.

One of the thoughts I have had about the trip so far is that this is the first time I’ve driven so far in an automatic. Got to say it does make life easier but I really am concerned that I will arrive back in England with nicely toned muscles in my right leg and an atrophied left one!

Today, day five, was the day when Tania, who hates mountain roads every bit as much as she hates flying asked, in all seriousness, ”Why do they always build the roads around the edge of mountains?” Bless.

We had lunch in a spa town called Digne-Les-Bains, a place I’ve been to many times and quite like. Tania came over all girly after we’d eaten and had that urge that women so often get – the need to do some clothes shopping. I learned a long time ago that we men have no power to stop such a thing – so I play the game another way and actively encourage it. The dividends always seem to be rewarded eventually, so I suggested she look at a little blouse which she bought, and when she couldn’t decide which of two colours the dress she tried on came in I told her I thought she should have both. Cool, huh?

As we were nearing Grasse there was a sign for a Citroen museum which I had never noticed before. Knowing from previous chats that Tania has no love for the cars I still boldly said we should stop and look. Well, she was hardly in a position to say no, was she?

Genuinely the oldest DS in captivity

Tania dutifully followed me around as I bored her shitless explaining the difference between a DS and a CX. Can’t say she was hanging on my every word but as time went by she started looking at them with just a tad of liking, if not affection.

How French - and how cool is this?? The Citroen H

Tania has also long been aware of my love for the Citroen H vans, memories of my first trip to France in the early sixties include seeing police versions of these scurrying around Paris. So when we went to the little shop inside the museum and saw models of the vans and a tee-shirt with one on the front she really had no choice but to encourage me to buy them. In fact she bought the model herself.

The tee-shirt is really cool. All I need to show you it is to find some wanker to model it . . .

Tomorrow is Monaco and the whispering Grand Prix cars. I’ll let you know what I hear.