Bon jour!

The Cook is opening (and spilling) a bottle of Sancerre ’05. Yesterday in Grasse, ten minutes from the Cote d’Azur we found ourselves in a camping ground a hundred metres from a huge supermarket so we managed to replenish our stocks and have a decent shower. Dinner was a very simple baguette with local ham and cheese preceded by a glorious local terrine which the OC selected after tasting several at the charcuterie. We listened to the radio emanating from Monaco because it was the only English station in the south of France according to its frequent advertising. It was through this that we learnt that Bangladesh had beaten Sth Africa (hah!) – and this is all the news we’ve heard since Stratford Upon Avon.

Stratford was great. We stayed at Sir William (Lawrence’s) pleasure…(and a few of the readies). ;-) I won a bottle of Mumm’s on the last day of the conference from entering a competition and I thought it appropriate to have a tipple before I ventured out to King Lear at the RSC 's Courtyard Theatre.


Ian McKellen was at his best and there were many directorial choices I noted that I can discuss with Year 13 when I return. At the intermission the visual left with us was of The Fool hanged on the stage and the ‘corpse’ stayed for most of the break.
One of Lear’s last lines at the close of the play as he holds his dead Cordelia is ‘my poor fool is hanged’ – a wonderful link and a poignant ending. Another poignant but startling part was when Sir Ian tore off his clothes in his ‘naked wretch’ scene and we got the full frontal. It was pathos and horror all at once but ooooh errrr! The things Tolkein/Peter Jackson never imagined!

Stratford to Hull took three train changes but we’re old hands now and we move as a single unit, even if we do colonise half a carriage with our luggage and ‘us’

Hull. How do you describe Hull? It was lovely, sunny and warm but an enforced three hour wait for the one bus that took us to the ferry had us drinking Starbuck’s coffee(?) which is not the sort of appetiser one has prior to a sea voyage. Onto the ferry – three times the size of a Cook Strait number and much better food…but with the same charging rorts that accompany it . We threw in the towel and went for the full buffet. And while the YC is just content with fries and tom sauce, we feel obliged to make up his difference as and where we can. Consequently the Cook had three roll mops when one really should have done. And moi?...well I just enjoyed the wall to wall salmon and smoked haddock. And then to bed for the most placid crossing of the north sea for a duration of 9 hours.

The cabin was about the same size as your basic Gitmo cell and of note were the blaring instructions on the loud speaker that followed you into the ensuite in Dutch, German, French and English…That it was now 6.30am and time for brekkie. Luckily for The OC she slept through the whole thing after a mission on the trains the day before where she was the porter, the organiser and the tour guide extraordinaire.

Rotterdam.

Hit town nice and early. Seems Europe doesn’t start shopping until around 10am which is about when we arrived in town. The OC/Imelda scored her third pair of shoes – just a little more expensive than 3 Singapore dollars (insert understatement). Gorgeous weather and lovely shopping. Noticed the difference of attitude with regard to deportment in Holland which has carried through up until now. There’s certainly a cultural difference between England and Europe and it began in Holland and it has remained since.

Grabbed a taxi to pick up the campervan. Had a taxi driver who was very confused, even with GPS directions. It took two phone-calls from within the taxi and not some inconsiderable expense to get to the depot. He was polite, confused, apologetic, confused, grandfatherly, confused and was thoroughly conversant in Dutch – the only words we understood were Air port, problem and Mamma Mia ! Maybe if we’d been Italian…..

Into the campervan. First night in a lay by ( or Aires as they are called) in Belgium. Nothing spectacular but HOME. Aires have overnight sleeping for truckies (and campervans) along with a service station, a decent sized café, picnic tables, and are usually a full on business in and of themselves. The plan was to nip down to hit The Med as soon as possible so a long day driving the next day as we thundered through Luxembourg, France, (mugged at the Swiss border for 30 odd Euro road tax – that’s good for a year!!!!!! *snort*) and then Switzerland. Went through some serious tunnels (the Swiss love their tunnels….and so does the YC!!!!) and spat out into Italy where we had a night on the side of the road outside Alessandria.

The road tolls ended up costing as much as the diesel did for the trip-(Memo to self, ensure the NZ Govt never privatises the roading network!!!). Left the lay by at Alessandria to greet the Mediterranean at Genoa. Interesting in that from there on, right through to Monaco there are SO many people and it’s SO built up that manoeuvring anything bigger than a motorcycle is sheer madness. We were fortunate that it’s Easter and the huge majority of folk aren’t going about their usual business. Nevertheless, we had to leave the coast at Monaco because it was just becoming stressful. There is no access to the beaches with height barriers that only let cars through and no parking for Anything….even for cars….even at Easter.

So onto the Motorway and took the next right (which is inland) and on to Grasse.

Grasse, famous for perfumes je pense, “mais all closed” said The Cook….relieved. We went to sleep in the camping ground chorused by frog-song. The loudest frogs in the world…but kinda…actually verrrry cool.

It’s been a solid sunny twenty degrees plus for the last three days. Lovely bright sun but a haze that cuts the visibility down to 10 kms or so. We thought it might be pollution but it’s Easter and this part of the world definitely shuts down over easter. Maybe we are blessed with the clarity of light that is Otago.

We spent the day away from motorways today on our journey from Grasse, pretty much following our noses with the odd reference to the Michelen map. This means that when you overrun an intersection you still have a rough idea where you’re going. But we had no idea where we’d end up. And this is how we got to “Crest” – somewhere in Provence. But it’s a pretty AMAZING somewhere!


And so we sit here drinking the Sancerre under the shadow of a medieval castle where the OC and I lost count of the steps getting to.