Guest post: DD does the South of France

DD just spent three days in the South of France WITHOUT ME (sob) and sent a guest blog post about it. Here’s what he had to say about his crazy first day …

In my workout group, if I’m in charge of the playlist I always choose “Marseilles”; by the Angels – it has the hard, driving intensity that exercise requires.

A fellow member of the training group and my neighbour – Benny – recently took his young family to house sit in the South of France a few months ago, not far from Marseilles.

When I decided to head to UK to visit family and friends, a side flight to Marseilles to see Benny seemed too good an opportunity to pass by, especially as nothing beats the experience of staying with a local.

In the early 2000s I had spent around five years living in Europe and the UK and did a lot of business travel, which sounds great but is typically plane, taxi, hotel, dinner, taxi, plane and usually on a very tight schedule.

So a lazy few days in the South of France with Benny and his family HAD to be done. And alone – as Alana’s youngest has the inconvenience of the HSC to contend with.

As an added benefit to catching up with Benny, visiting France also provided an opportunity to spend a collection of tarnished Euro coins that had been flung into a moving box some 20 years ago.

My decision to travel to Europe was at the very end of Benny’s stay, so the only way to make my evil plan work was to land at Heathrow and – a very short sleep later – fly straight to Marseilles.

Travel to non-English speaking countries is a challenge at the best of times, but throw in jet lag, 32C heat, humidity, rusty beginner French, driving on the wrong side of the road and re-learning to drive a manual car and things get amped up a little!

What could go wrong?

Well, firstly the tennis ball-sized ding in my brand new suitcase where someone had clearly dropped it on its corner!

My first destination after landing in Marseilles was Aix de Provence – a town made (very) popular by the book ‘A Year in Provence’ and also highly recommended by a work colleague. I navigated into the town centre, managed to park without incident in the handkerchief-sized parking bay and also remembered to retrieve my box of Euros.

My plan was to take them to a bank and have them exchanged for notes – however I had forgotten that the French take their work-life balance very seriously and so banks only open for a few hours each day.   

And my visit coincided with their very long lunch break. Unperturbed I ambled into the main street, which was closed off for a daily market and flanked either side by a multitude of cafes.

Despite being mid-September the temperature was well above 30C and the town was heaving with tourists.

I spent a few minutes walking past stalls of local produce (lavender featured heavily), a multitude of clothes and bric-a-brac before the heat dented my enthusiasm and I retreated to a well-shaded cafe table with a wonderful view of the passing parade.

This included African buskers – loudly chanting, playing drums and doing very impressive cartwheels in front of the cafe. Lunch AND a show. Score.

I ordered lunch, successfully requesting the daily special from the blackboard.

My sense of triumph was rather dented when my plat-de jour arrived …

I thought I had ordered beef with Thai-style sauce, but what arrived was steak tartare Thai-style with coriander and ginger. Quite tasty but definitely not what my jet-lagged body was craving.

Much food envy ensued as I watched surrounding tables tuck into various salads, steak frites, hamburgers and sandwiches.

I consoled myself with the fact that the meal was essentially free due to my box of tarnished coins. And the waiter kindly assured me that paying the bill with coins was very, very welcome – maybe I saved him a trip to bank for change?

Walking back to the car I passed a wonderful chocolaterie and somehow managed to order a selection of exquisite chocolates for my hosts in faltering French. The proprietor wrapped up my purchase in beautiful paper garnished with a dried flower and included a recyclable ice pack in the carry bag as defence from the heat. She smiled politely – and (upon reflection) bewilderment – as while counting out 32 euro in tarnished coins I explained that I used to live in Amsterdam … or possibly just said “Amsterdam”. A French dialogue course may be in my future.

Having conquered Aix and lightening my Tupperware container it was time to head to my friends in a small village called St Laurent La Vernede (SLLV) in the direction of Avignon.  

I found the freeway heading west, but the heat, jet lag and straight roads were making me very drowsy, so I decided the back roads would be safer.

Exiting the freeway, I pulled up to the toll booth and congratulated myself for having coins to pay, but as I went to place the toll ticket into the machine a gust of wind caught it and sent it a few metres away. As cars behind me piled up, I squeezed out into the narrow space, retrieved the ticket and frantically fed coins into the machine – many of which were repeatedly rejected. At the time I thought the tarnish must have changed their weight, but later (and much calmer) realised it was simply because some of the coins were Singapore dollars (they are really quite similar especially when tarnished!)

Feeling somewhat defeated I headed for the back roads and after spending 20 minutes going round in circles through cherry orchards.

I pulled to the side and spent five minutes focussed on deciphering the car’s French navigation system. That decision and joining the backroads were a positive step and my mood lifted considerably as the scenery became very bucolic with long tree lined arcades and old stone buildings perched on craggy hilltops.

As I got closer to SLLV I began to wonder why the Sat Nav steadfastly told me it would take 60 mins to travel 30 kilometres. Surely this was a French technology glitch? After all I was in a Renault Clio and we all know how well a Renault worked out for Alana!

However the answer was more to do with how uniquely different the local area was – I entered an ancient geography where there were small villages every 2-3 kilometres each complete with their own boulangeries, cafes, terracotta coloured stone walled houses, very narrow streets, slow moving cyclists and many many stop signs.

I began to understand.

Finally I arrived in SLLV and followed Benny’s texted instruction to ‘park next to the red car in town square’; which I thought was rather vague but was actually perfect.

I’ll let the picture below tell the story.   

After polishing off a much needed chilled Kronenbourg we walked 20 metres and passed through a red door into an amazing space.

Benny was house sitting for an Australian architect and his French ceramic artisan wife who had taken a dilapidated 17th century shell and transformed it into an amazing, homely warren of rooms and airy spaces, retaining the historic character while adding modern features and many stylish artistic flourishes. The picture doesn’t do it justice or display the labyrinth.

After a quick shower it was time to head to a neighbouring village (St Quentin la Poterie) for dinner. But first it needed to be determined that each child would take turns to travel in my car (I’m very popular apparently) and we set off in a follow-the-leader convoy.

As the village name suggests pottery is its main focus and we had time to have a quick stroll through tiled streets and past artisan galleries before settling for dinner in an open courtyard.

Now the French do many things well but their kids meals are something else – no chicken nuggets and frozen chips here. Instead real chicken breast with roast herbed potatoes followed by waffles with syrup and ice cream AND complete with an accompanying cordial drink.

The cordial sounds so simple but it really is quite a delightful ritual. First the kids got to choose from at least 10 cordial flavours including passionfruit, pineapple and violet (lavender). The waiter then returned with their chosen ‘concentrate’ to which the kids add water and ice and contentedly sipped through a straw. Cue very happy children.

You may not be surprised that I crashed and burned on our return home and slept deep and long. Which was a good thing as I had no idea what a very big next day Benny had planned …

The fact the tale ends on a cliffhanger, suggests DD is planning on doing more blogging … stay tuned …

Song of the day: The Angels “Marseilles”