Month: June 2022

To those who know me I am not a sweet treat sort of gal. Although to complete an oxymoron, a batch of home made chocolate fudge will not not last a day in my house, yet a bar of chocolate can stay in the fridge for weeks or even months. When I get to about my birthday (June) I throw away the remains of Christmas sweet treats that are still lurking in the cupboard or fridge. I am not a huge cake fan except for Cindy’s lemon cake, oh and also Cindy’s carrot cake. I like a Devonshire tea with raspberry jam and cream and I adore liquorice all-sorts but on the whole I don’t really indulge in cake.

That is until I am here and I go to the Pastisserie. How could you not eat cake. Raspberry tarts are a weakness that has to be indulged whilst in France (or Italy or in fact Portugal). Truth be told over the past few days the look of some tarts have not been up to standard and I have taken to WH’s calling of trying a variety, venturing to apricot (Abricot) and also apple (pomme) and whilst I must say that raspberry is by far my favourite there is some stiff competition.

I can even now ask for my raspberry tart in French “tarts aux framboise s’il vous plait”. Sure I still do it whilst pointing and smiling and nodding and saying oui (wee) oui (wee) a lot as my pronunciation is probably not that good, but I do always receive a raspberry tart.

Now aunty V, I know that I have stated that in my quest I shall find the perfect tart so here it is. The perfect one has a thin layer of biscuit base which holds together and does not crumble at the first nibble. (Footnote 1). The best base is slightly darker than golden, more of a burnt butter colour. The custard stuff should just fill the base and not spill over the edges. The first layer of raspberries should be pushed gently into the custard stuff and then piled up in a pyramid as high as they will go and dusted with icing sugar.

Mission accomplished. Now that my quest is complete I will possibly eat far less tarts as my discerning tart tastes have become refined and my longing looks in Patisserie windows have been subdued. Or maybe in the spirit of joie de vivre, I will.

Footnote 1: note to all tart lovers. If someone wants to share your tart then DO NOT try to cut the tart in half. If it is a bad biscuit base it will just crumble in pieces. The raspberries will have to be removed for the cutting and then divided equally and the joy of tart eating will be lost. Just eat half and then hand over the other half in whatever state it may be in.

and discovery.

Don’t really know where to start today there was so much to take in. We set of for Chenonceau to visit the chateau as there are many around and I think that is the one I want to photograph the most.

We arrive in the village and see some boats on the river and as we pull up the boat a boat is about to leave so we jump on and spend and relaxing hour cruising up the river with French commentary and discover the certainty that laughter and crying babies are the same in any language.

We drive around and buy our tickets and I admit to having little enthusiasm for going inside. Palaces or Chateau have never enthralled me from the inside out. I love the architecture and detail and moats and gardens so my head is already back outside from the moment we walk in. Then I discover. Isn’t that what makes the joy of travel “joyful”. Discovery. Whether it s vista or a piece of art or a language or meal. Here in this space it is Louise Dupin (1706-1799).

“illegitimate daughter of Samuel Bernard, (Louis XIV’s Banker), wife of a rich farmer, the very beautiful Madame Dupin recruited Rousseau as her secretary, to help her achieve the major project on which she had set her heart: to produce an Encyclopaedia of the second sex that would demonstrate once and for all the natural equality between men and women. She used all sources from medicine to history, from politics to anthropology, from law and religion, from geography to pedagogy. She spent time in the kings library borrowing very are books and produced 47 chapters that would form her work to provide the most convincing arguments to prove that inequality between the sexes was solely due to male oppression.” Elisabeth Badinter.

The rest is interesting and the opportunity for photographs is endless. It is centuries of woman who have shaped this space, its design, its practicality, its profitability. Then it’s a chocolatier who finally ends up with the Chateau and in the First World War he builds a military hospital and treated over 2000 soldiers all at his own cost. During the 2nd world war it became to sole point of access to the free zone, and the family provided a pathway for the resistance and jews to escape. My history lesson today has been fascinating. People are brave.

Loches and Chedigny

We wake in our new home for four nights and the sun is once again shining. We have a slow start to the day and head into our nearest town which is Loches. We had a quick look last night when we headed into the supermarche to get something for dinner, without success I might add. But let’s not go there except to say that Sunday night is not a big night for anything to be open in Loches let alone a supermarche.

We park the car and head through town to the tourist centre and do a bit of browsing. I buy the compulsory Christmas decoration for the tree and still love the surprise on the bored customer service person face when they ask where you are from (it must be customary in tourist info centres) and we say “Nouvelle Zealand”. It always seems to either start a conversation or at least exert a wonderful smile.

We wander some more and stop and buy breakfast (raspberry tart of course) but without the bad coffee. We walk through the gardens and around the ramparts, past towers and of course churches and steeples. It’s nicknamed the strolling town and I can see why.

We decide to head further afield to the garden of Chedigny and it is well worth the visit. It is famous for its climbing roses which have all but finished in bloom and must have been quite spectacular but for us are still very pretty.

Breakfast seems along time ago and we wander past the boulangerie which is disappointingly closed. A little further along we find a little restaurant under a huge wisteria and enjoy a wonderful plat du jour. We start as the only ones and then it begins to fill. Two ladies lunching, a couple with a big old dog who literally sighs with relief and plonks down under the table (the dog that is not the couple) and then three very young priests, kitted out in their heavy black robes in the hot afternoon sun. The tables fill and the food comes and goes and the people and food watching and eating make for a really pleasant lunch.

We finish our wandering and head back to the car along a track that we think is short-cut and ends up being a a very long cut and not at all that interesting, unless you are into bugs and insects. Which you will note I am not.

Avignon then Vichy

What a bad sleep in Avignon. Like goldilocks but without the just right. First pillow too hard other one too big and soft, but no just right. Pushed together beds which had the worst downhill slope to the outside which made you think you were going to fall out. Hotel in a great location right above the square but the bottle clang of tidy up at 2am is jolting. Then for one strange reason we wake early just when we need to be asleep.

The early morning makes a nice time to head out in the cool and the quiet and we decided to go to the famous post du Gard. When we reach it we didn’t realise it was something you had to buy tickets to and its closed. We wander down to the river and I clamber along the bank and get the shots of the day.

We walk around in circles and enjoy the sights and sounds of a new day. There seems to be 100s of different varieties of small dogs all out walking their owners. Stall owners are starting to set up the wares. Tables and chairs are venturing out into the square. The thought of a kiwi flat white at this moment nearly does my head in. It would make the morning perfect.

We go back to the hotel and have a cup of machine made coffee and pack our bags and then zoom once more down the avenue of many walks to catch the tourist bus. I am first in the queue.

We take the tour and its a great way to get around as it covers the ks over the bridges, past the towers, castles. on the horizon, markets on the fringes and we soak it all in.

We refuse to yet again walk up the avenue of many walks so we zig zag our way through side lanes until we are lost and then stumble onto a landmark that leads us to where we want to go. The morning is over so we grab our bags from the hotel and make our final journey down the avenue of many walks to the train station. To catch the train back to the TGV car park, to pick up the car to head to Vichy. I can not help what you are now probably thinking, the car park was just right there.

We drive and drive and drive to Vichy. Its not a great road trip. I am not a great roadie sort of person. The novelty of the 130kph four lane motorway wears thin. We drive and we drive. The overhead motorway info signs keeps flashing a message and I look it up on the app (the favourite translation one) and it says beware of extreme thunderstorm and then 10 minutes later it pours and pours and pours. We slow to 110 as per the rules for rain and we drive and drive and drive and it rains and rains and rains.

A couple of traffic jams and a stiff back and butt later we arrive in Vichy.

Its late and we are hungry so we wander to town and find a restaurant where we eat a very average burger then head back (in the rain). There is a light show on at the opera house but we are told it might not go ahead but we are glad we made our way back as we watch the illumination under a tiny umbrella in the rain. We have a wonderful sleep on a flat spongy mattress with a perfect goldilocks pillow.

We wake in the morning and the rain is still steady so we laze around and then decide to walk anyway. Vichy feels like a town trying to get back on its feet. It may be the rain but everything feels a bit down. There are things that are still “temporarily” closed. Others need a lick of paint or two. My shoes are wet and the temperature is cool. The morning is gone so we go back to the hotel and get in the car and drive and drive and drive and it rains and rains and rains.

Big day out: Les Baux-de-Provence: Carrieres des Lumieres + Avignon

There is a lot to say about today and even more photos. It was a really memorable one, not to be forgotten, but just in case I am putting it all in here so in years to come I can get it out to jog my memory. It was a day of two halves.

Glass half full

Was the last night in our wonderful little cottage of which I will dedicate a blog to in its entirety when I get the time. It rained overnight and in the morning everything looked fresh and sparkly. I decided to take a morning dip in the pool, just because I could. We pack up slowly and with the joy of having our own place means we leave with no dirty washing, which I love.

We are heading to Les-Baux-de Provence which is just down the road as I really want to go to Carrieres des Lumieres. We saw starry night by Van Gogh in Wellington as an exhibition and to see it in the caves at Les Baux-de-Provence where it was first envisaged was to good an opportunity to miss.

We miss the parking for the caves so carry on to the village where we park at the bottom and meander our way to the top. It is yet another gorgeous spot of alleys and cobbles and doors and rooftops and flowers and door handles and flags. The day is dull so my photographs lack the lustre that the village deserves.

We make our way back down to the car and the sky opens, we shelter under a plane tree hoping it will pass. It doesn’t so we move anyway and once back to the car we are grateful to be able to change our soaking shirts as it is the first time we have felt cold since we have arrived. We arrive at the caves and buy our tickets for the exhibition which does not disappoint. It is full of light and sound and movement and colour and the effort taken to get here is already a distant memory.

After lunch we head to the Avignon TGV station where we have decided to park the car so we don’t have to drive into the city and do the whole parking thing, when our hotel is based in a pedestrian only area. The TGV station is on the outskirts of the city and we can catch a regional train into Avignon, leaving our luggage in the car and just taking an overnight bag.

We arrive at the hotel and Avignon looks amazing and as the day is wearing on we dump our bag and head out with the intention of getting on the last sightseeing bus at 4pm. We miss the bus and sit in the square with a G&T and beer and wait for the little sight seeing train which is more than welcome on the worn out legs. There is so much to take in. Once on the bus we wobble around the inner township and I wish my body was up to wandering some more as there is so much to see.

With a bit of a rest and a couple of Panadol we hop off the train and keep wandering. The evening wears on and we walk until I can’t walk anymore and and find a lovely bistro for dinner where we sit in the warm evening sun at 8pm at night and enjoy the food and the sounds and the ambience.

It was a beautiful day, a day to remember.

Glass half empty

The night was stormy which made for a restless sleep as the thunder seemed to rattle the cottage and the lightning lit it up from the outside in. We had arrived home previous to no water which meant the washing that I had put on before we left was not yet done. We called the host and between WH and the hosts husband they found a leaking tap which meant the well was dry.(or so they thought) Wait they said and we did.The water came back on. The water went back off .

The morning after the storm we have no wifi but at least we have water so we pack up and head to the caves to see an art exhibition in the caves at Les Baux-de-provence. We miss the turn off so decide to visit the village which is delightful yet again but the legs and back ache with another climb and multiple flights of stairs.

WE make our way back down to the car and the heavens open with a deluge that doesn’t want to quit. We shelter under a tree which works ok for a few minutes but as the wind picks up the heavy drops make there way through the canopy and then with the loud rolling thunder and lighting in the sky I decide I will take my chances with the rain rather than what has now become in my head the lighting tree.

When we reach the car the sky is beginning to lighten and we change our tops and head to the Caves. There are yet again no parks so I say to WH we just wait it out and someone will leave, and they eventually they do. In all the excitement of finally getting a park however we forget to buy a parking ticket. We have done so religiously at every other space.

We make our way inside and the exhibition does not disappoint. We have lunch in the cafe and then head towards o Avignon TGV carpark. We have decided to park here rather than drive into the city as our hotel is right by the popes palace which is all pedestrian lanes. I feel smug with my cleverness at having devised such a plan.

On arrival at the station we find enter the carpark and see only red lights above full spaces so when we finally see a green one we take it. We then walk and walk and walk, past numerous other carparks with plenty of spaces I might add, until we reach the station for regional.

On arriving at Avignon central we are glad of our small bag as we walk the kilometre to out hotel. We pass the tourist bus just past the rail station and as the legs feel like they have very few steps left in them decide that is the best way to get around late this afternoon. We ditch the bags and with ten minutes to spare buy a ticket and race back down to where the bus leaves from ready to get on the last bus at 4pm. We wait, and we wait, and we wait. Eventually I go and ask and I am told “not today”. There is usually a 4pm but “not today”. “maybe take the tourist train as it is gong until 5.30”, where does it leave from?, The popes palace of course right next to the hotel. So off we go again back up the street we have now already done twice.

We get to the train and yes its still there but no it is full and we can’t get on. There is only one and it willl be back in 45 minutes. We sit at a table in the square and I see the most delicious looking mojito coming out, full of ice and mint and lime. I’ll have one of those please. “sorry we have no mint or lime left so no Mojito.” I order a G&T whilst WH orders a beer and we sip for 45 minutes until the train comes back. “Its been a funny sort of day” I say and we laugh as we run together all the moments that have just not gone our way. I finish my drink and line up, first in the queue but even that does not work as there is a group of 25 booked who must get on first. We get on the train and wobble and bump around the city and give each other a nudge as we come back around and see a huge hotel car park with perfect access just off the ring road around the back.

It is a day of two halves lucky we chose full.

Fontaine de-Vauclause, Gordes, Roussillon

Today we decided to do a loop through three little villages on the “beautiful village” list and I may say they were all quite stunning. It was a great day out.

First Fontaine de-Vauclasue with its spring water and steep gorges. We have lunch here at a cute little cafe and the hours simply disappear.

Onto Gordes we go and I will say now that this is a village best viewed from a distance and that my photos do not do it any justice what so ever. It was stunning. We wander through the streets and building hanging onto the hills and we forget the voice of reason that how ever far you go down you must come back up.

With tired legs we head back to the car and hum and ha in regard to continuing on or heading home. We make the decision to continue onto Rousillion as its only 15 ks down the road. Its set up in the red ochre hills and the contrasts of colour make a lovely change of scenery.

Big day out so that’s it.

Handy tips:

Gordes is best viewed from a distance. Stop and enjoy the view.

Wen putting towns in your nav system put the town and then parking so you don’t end up driving through the middle.

All three villages definitely worth the visit.

Food is a fraction of the price if you buy it from a vendor and sit under a tree, but sometimes you need to sit in the ambience and be in the moment.

St Remy de Provence

We wake to rain which I am of no doubt the locals will be grateful for. It soon clears and doesn’t appear to dampen the temperature any just the dust. St Remy de Provence is the town we are staying in or at least just down the road. We now have a local supermarche and know how to navigate our way around town rather than through it. We have however not yet been to town unless we count our first day when we managed to drive through the pedestrian street and today was market day and our house book says today is the day to go.

Its already hot and busy and I begin to wish the market stalls were not crowding the streets so I could see more definition of the village. The body has been delicately balanced over the past few days and is beginning to wobble so the wandering is slow and sloppy. We decide to call it quits and go back to our cottage and come back another day without the bustle and the wobble.

Yet again I forgo the raspberry tart breakfast as hunger is not on the agenda. On the walk back to the car WH finds a supermarche to get more water and supplies and as luck would have it it has a patisserie next door so aunty V the quest continues. We buy one to take home for dessert.

We chill for the afternoon and I finish a book and drink lots of water.

Thats about it today but I do have to share these great sculptures I saw in a gallery today, made out of sort of stocking stuff and also my new favourite fruit Apricots (Raspberry tarts don’t count as fruit or here’s a thought maybe they can).

Yesterday we went in pursuit of Lavender and today we go in search of Flamingo. Evidently they are just down the road. The handmade house book in our cottage tells us we are an hour away from lakes, river and the sea and if we head down towards the Carmargue region we can visit the marshes and see horses and flamingo.

Its overcast today but by 9 am its still 26 degrees so our four bottles of water still get packed. We stop at the pharmacy because evidently the mosquitoes are ferocious because of the marshes and I use my translate app yet again (love that app). “Antimostique” of course.

We pass pretty fields of sunflowers with a promise to take some pics on another day. We arrive in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer , pay 5 euro for parking and begin to wander. Its not a quaint nor particularly pretty town but we find a bike shop and hire a couple of bikes to bike the seawall. I go electric and WH initially thinks he will just have an ordinary one but changes his mind and gets a two deal. He will thank me later.

We head along the sea wall on the hunt for the pink birds and the pink lakes. We seem to go a long way and the lighthouse that we are biking too (because that is where they said to go) is nowhere in sight, not even in a far distant horizon. there are also no pink lakes. Its an interesting landscape and when I see some Flamingos in the distance and I stop to take a pic the smell is not unlike Rotorua on a not too smelly day.

We keep biking along and also pushing along the seawall as the sand drifts have become too deep in parts to ride through. We stop and I take pics and we watch the sky darken. Still the lighthouse cannot be seen on the horizon.

The salt lakes are interesting against the darkening sky as it looks like snow crusting at the edges. The famed lighthouse finally appears on the horizon and pulls us forward as the path turns to a bone jarring broken tar-seal. I am afraid the lighthouse does not live up to any expectation except that we have arrived and we can now turn around and go back.

We wind the bikes up to top gear and with the wind at our backs zoom along the path (except of course when we are pushing through the sand drifts) back the way we came. This time some Flamingos have edged closer to the path and we stop to take a couple more shots.

I forgot to add that we had no raspberry tart (and bad coffee breakfast), as we didn’t see any tarts worthy of my quest when we were wandering earlier on in the township, so by now its well past noon and I am pretty hungry. We get back to town and find a cafe, but alas no Raspberry tart. The most interesting thing in the town is that tourists pay 3 euro to climb up onto the church roof and are wandering all around. You can’t see the pitch of the roof in the photo but it’s actually quite steep as they make there way right up to apex of the roof.

We drop our bikes off and our butts enjoy the slow walk back to the car just as it starts to rain. On the way home I get WH to pull over despite the rain so I can snap a pic of the sun flowers. I remain hopeful I will get a shot of the rolling fields full of them but just in case I will catch this moment.

When you think of Provence in France do you think Lavender fields? I know I do and yet despite being here before we have never been in summer which means the lavender has not yet been or flower or has already been harvested.

A quick bit of research tells me we are only 100ks away from Lavender paradise, let the journey begin. We pack our four bottles of water, two straight from the freezer. I may have mentioned previous that its very hot. We don’t need food because in the allowance that holidays afford I have decided that when in France breakfast is wasted calories when coffee and cake are a necessary thing around 10ish, (to be honest the coffee here I can definitely leave) but the cakes, tarts, pasties whatever you want to call them are divine. I tell myself I am on a quest for my aunty, who shares my liking for raspberry tarts, and I must find the perfect one so that I may text her and tell her of my triumph. I have come close but my quest remains.

I digress. We head to Valensole, evidently an instagrammers lavender dream and after travelling for an hour I begin to think that perhaps the magical fields will remain elusive and then there they are.

The smell is delicious, the sound is actually quite intense as 1000’s of bees feast in what must be pollen paradise, and it is a travel moment that I shall recall with all my senses. We wind our way around the roads and past the fields and of course stop at a pretty little village for raspberry tarts and a cold sugary drink.

We park along way from the town as we are still traumatised of arriving in places we are not supposed to be, so the first P sign we see, we are in, and make our way on foot. It’s another reason I can quiet my mind in regard to raspberry tarts for breakfast. The walk is always fascinating through the cobbled lanes and alleyways. Remembering that people live their lives here and it is not a labyrinth fairy tale for me to wander.

By the time we make our way back to the car, uphill, the lanes lose some of their appeal as the sun beats relentless, and the cars air-conditioning is more than welcoming. We drive through picturesque countryside when I ask WH to stop (yet again) for another great photo op and I take my shot of the day. I am not sure if it is that great or if it is the fact that I had to walk all the way back up the hill and down the side road to take it which at least to me, makes it more special.

Just in case you would like to see a few more ………

The cottage: I shall not keep you in suspense and just say it did not disappoint. I like its outside better than its in. Its mis match floors and walls are either quirky or quaint but I would not like to tackle any of it after a few too many wines. The collection of art books in particular photography would take me weeks to browse but I cannot get to like the giant stuffed bull head ( horns included) that stares at me from the hall. I have called him Fred which makes him seem a bit friendlier so we shall see. Outside though the lavender mingles with the white ramble roses and the pool lounges are shaded under the olive trees so it makes it easy to ignore the giant ants and multitude of wasps and jump in the pool. Life is good

The getting there was of course part of the journey. We call a uber for the 1.2 km journey to the station, yes it is only a 20 minute walk but dragging suitcases across the cobbles is wearing on the back and body and charring on the soul. We don’t connect with a driver and decide we better get dragging or miss the train. We catch the train, bags and backs in tact and chill for the 4 hour journey. Meanwhile Uber sends me a receipt for a cancellation fee which I then spend the next 30 mins trying to find how to get my 8 euro back. Which I did.

We get off the train at Avignon and pick up our rental. A Renault hybrid. It’s been a while since WH has driven on the right side (which is of course the wrong side) of the road. The temperature is in the mid thirties and by the time we get the navigation to speak English and start moving in the right direction (we hope) we are hot and flustered. Then of course we somehow, with no blame apportioned but squarely implied or at least that is my story and I am sticking to it, we end up on a one way street in the centre of a village, teaming with pedestrians, and glaring onlookers. We come back around and because life is interesting we end up in a wedding procession that goes on forever. Dozens and dozens of cars with their hazard lights on, tooting horns and yelling. Young ones sitting on the car window sills waving ribbons and playing music all whilst driving down the road. The procession goes on forever and its hard to imagine how large the venue must be to hold them all and also who is paying. We untangle ourselves from the procession and a few dirt roads and sharp turns later we arrive at what will be our home for the next 6 nights.

We swim, eat French bread for dinner, and sleep another restless sleep hoping that our circadian rhythm will get the lay of the land by tomorrow yet at 5 we decide that maybe tonight is the night of sleep.

We decide to head to a village market and find one 30 minutes away called Isle sur la Sorgue which sits on multiple canals and rivers and is famous for its antiques. Today we manage to dodge the centre-ville and find a space in the parking area. We head off to get a coffee, which I do not enjoy but it is coffee and the place more than makes up for it. I love the feeling of walking the streets, hearing the language that I don’t understand, smelling the smells and drinking in the sights. We buy enough food for dinner careful not to over stock as previous visits have taught us. We wander for hours. through the bustling streets which have quickly become packed. in and out of antique shops and down quiet village lanes. We eat an amazing raspberry tart and drink a sugary drink to keep up the pace and by lunchtime the heat is once again in the mid 30’s and that’s in the shade. We head back to the pool.