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Published: April 18th 2007
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Not all travel adventures can be great; this is undisputedly the law of the universe, similarly obvious but just as wearisome truisms as “you win some you lose some”, and the “law of probability” means it was bound to happen at some stage. Never the less I figure it is a bit like research, you should not just publish the significant results as the non significant (or in this case the crap ones) may in fact be just as interesting, or at least enlightening.
So the long awaited trip to the south of France was finally upon us. Paul, I and Caroline (my sister newly arrived from NZ) set off to Nice on what was a hideously early flight from Stanstead which required a 3.50am awakening (though this did mean we saw the first urban fox on our street which was a bonus). We arrived in Nice and made our way along the cote d’azur (as Paul noted it has a close resemblance to coastal developments in NZ - architectural hideousness was the order of the day). We entered Marseilles and after a few wrong turns (the result of only having a not too detailed Google map print out)
Hamlet of Brujas
Where our house was we arrive at the Le Corbusier hotel. A fabulous place located in one of France’s first social housing projects designed by the great (depending on who you talk to) man himself. We were sufficiently impressed and thought it had a very cool vibe, cemented by the oh so cool and earnest french residents meetings being held in the community spaces, the book, grocery and cakes shops inside the building and the fabulously sculptural roof space where we ate our picnic dinner. So all good so far you are thinking, and so were we!
Next day we head out of Marseille towards Barjac where we have a house for week. Unfortunately said lack of map leads us to getting a little confused (okay lost) meaning we stop the car, Paul and I get out to look at local map, Caroline stays in the car only to have two men on a scooter pull up come into the car and take hers and Paul’s bag. Caroline at this point thinks she about to be knifed and rather sensibly leaps out of the car screaming she is quickly surrounded by very helpful French people speaking to her very fast in French, she
Blossom in Uzes
Medieval walled town where Cyrano De Bergerac was filmed naturally panicked is only speaking very fast in English. Much to our horror find we have lost her passport, both her and Paul’s mobile phones and 900 euros in cash between us, never mind the total state of fear the whole experience induced in poor Caroline (who subsequently realised that this was the only time she had forgotten to get travel insurance). However, helpfully directed by sign language by the local residents we make our way to the local police station where we spend the next four hours realising that “ou est la toilette?” can only get you so far - mainly to the loo (helpful at times I did find, but not when trying to communicate the loss of your luggage, money and sense of travel joi de vive). It is during the course of this extended stay in the police station in Marseille we picked up from the rather lovely French policeman that we had managed to get ourselves lost in “the Harlem of Marseilles”. Excellent. Lesson learnt. Maps really are good things.
After extracting ourselves from Marseilles (only just as the only motorway on ramp sign posting consisted of a sign half way up the on
ramp indicting that this was the way to the motorway on ramp!) we got ourselves to the small town of Barjac, and then onto the little hamlet we were staying called Brujas, and the lovely house “La Petite Magnanerie” http://www.frenchconnections.co.uk/for_holiday_makers/accommodation/106109.cfm
we had rented for the week. A delightful stone place that used to be an old silk factory (where they kept and fed silk worms) that had been restored beautifully by the very kind and helpful English owners and was everything you could want from a house in the south of France. A week passed, with various ups and downs, can’t say it was the best time due both to the anxiety caused by Caroline’s lack of passport, the loss of holiday funds and other prior events (which in this public forum are best left unsaid). However, if we were in better frames of mind it would have been fabulous, a day trip to Uzes a lovely medieval market town, the consumption of vast amounts of pain au chocolate, a rotisserie rabbit and walks in the provincial country side all seemingly excellent south of France entertainments. Needless to say as I can’t say anything particularly positive about the whole
Pont Du Gard
Roman Aqueduct which impressed Caroline less than "the one in Spain" experience I let the pictures speak for themselves, and hope the laws of probability mean we have a better experience next time round.
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