The French Riviera: Villefranche and Nice

Our cruise got off to a rough start: as we sailed away from Barcelona, listening to the captain's log over the intercom, the phrase "extremely uncomfortable" caught in our ears. With Tea's double-take and nervous laughter as a backdrop, we learned that we would be skirting a storm on our way to Villefranche, and wouldn't find calm waters again until 5 a.m. or so.

What followed was probably our worst night on a cruise ship; certainly the equal of our return to Miami on our first cruise, where most of the staff were trying to serve us between bouts of illness, and tumbling displays and dishes were the norm. Thanks to Nancy and Stephen -- who'd kindly switched rooms with us -- we were lower in the ship (Deck 2) and centred this time: probably the best place of all, in truth. (To skip ahead for a moment, none of us where surprised when the captain's log for the following day highlighted much worse conditions than he'd expected, with winds in excess of 100 miles per hour and waves in excess of 40 feet.)

Still, we survived, and were greeted by the picturesque bay of Villefranche the following morning; paradise, it seemed. As beautifully dreamy as the previous night was nightmarish. Despite a hearty breakfast on the ship, we weren't long off the tender before our hands (and, soon, our tummies) were full of wonderful oranges, sandwiches made with delicious tomatoes (and French bread, of course -- ah, memories of Paris), quiche, and even some sausage rolls, if memory serves. We ate all this while climbing steps through the beautiful neighbourhoods, pausing often to take in the view behind.

We could've made it as far as Cannes or Monaco in the time allotted to us, but decided to make the short trip to Nice instead; 15 minutes by train. Here, as in parts of Paris, I was surrounded by a way of life that really spoke to me. The cafés, the chatter, the beach (in this case)... One could really get used it.

One encounter summed up the day for me: Tea and I were sitting on a low wall outside a hotel while Nancy and Stephen went in to confirm our directions. A couple walking their dog crossed the path of another man walking his dog, and, turning, exchanged a few words in French before smiling and stopping right in front of us. While the couple was clearly fluent in French, the man struggled after noting that their terriers were of similar breed.

Immediately the gentleman in the couple said, "English?" which the relieved American (unless I miss my guess) acknowledged. The couple, it turned out, were Swedish, and they had a great conversation about various breeds and local dog shows. At one point, Tea or I laughed, and, realizing we understood English, they then included us in the conversation. For me, this couple, fluent in many languages and so polite and friendly, was better than my best visions of Europe -- which were over the moon to beginning with, it has to be said.

From there we found a 'boot sale' to beat them all; so much history and beauty at these things over here. If you'll allow me a nose in the air moment, I fear the Great Glebe Garage Sale will seem like a collection of so many Barrhaven driveways after all this. I could've come home with armfuls, but limited myself to a few fantastic pins -- UPDATE: one of them is definitely the insignia of the 13e Régiment de Dragons Parachutistes -- no doubt dating from the middle of the last century.

The tables were in the middle of a square that was surrounded by little restaurants with shaded patios, so we decided to stop for some wine and food. (This was one of the few days that I took crib notes versus making a full entry, and they've failed me here: I know I had a delicious omelette, and Stephen had pasta, but the rest escapes me.) After lunch, we went down to the busy, rocky beach, and then up to a lookout well above it with a lovely park. (I hope I'll be able to share the fantastic pictures we got from this vantage shortly.)

We caught the train back to Villefranche with plenty of time to spare.

Up next: Firenze! (As Stephen loved to say.)

Close to home: walks and drives

Tea with MerlinWe've been enjoying things a little closer to home since our vacation. The Sunday after we got back was the first annual Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer Festival. We biked over, enjoyed a few pints -- I had a pint of Centurion's Ghost and a pint of Bristol Stout, and this was Tea's introduction to all that is the Old Rosie 'scrumpy' cider -- and burgers, and the beautiful view of the surrounding hills; Cleeve Hill, the highest point in the Cotswolds, is visible from there. (Unfortunately, I forgot my camera!) Then we got to sample many of those ales and ciders again at the Jolly Brewmaster pub a few weeks later; I've heard they have the best selection of real ale in the town.



The weekend past, we rented our first car! Before I go on, a few general points about driving:

1. It's much tougher than it looks! We decided to split the driving over the weekend, with Saturday being Tea's day. Well, I was completely laid back in the passenger seat, thinkin' all was well, and then Sunday came. Driving on the other side isn't so bad, roundabouts are O.K., but the narrow roads and quasi-intersections are really very nerve-racking.
2. You know those folks that drive down the highway for 10 km with their signal light on? I'm bettin' they're Brits. The signal indicator clicks back to neutral immediately here, with the light going out after the turn as you'd expect.
3. Our Garmin Nuvi GPS (or sat-nav as they say here) can be configured to stick to paved roads, but that really doesn't save you over here: I swear some of the roads it sent us down were only suitable for horses.

We became English Heritage members soon after arriving, and decided that we'd start the weekend by visiting one of the sites close to home: the Belas Knap neolithic long barrow. I don't know if it's typical of the heritage sites, but it was so understated: the number of times we looked at each other, after walking for 10 or 15 minutes, wondering whether we were going the right way was really funny; small signs offered only the slightest of encouragement. When we finally found it, Tea's arms flew up in the air in a victory 'V'. :-) As we were making our way back down the steep slope towards the car, wishing we'd brought some water, we spotted a town in the distance, and that's how we ended up in Winchcombe.

We found ourselves outside the Plaisterers Arms pub, and I'm so glad Tea suggested we stop -- I'd been leaning toward the White Hart Inn that I'd read about in our book of Cotswold walks and cycle rides (more on that in a bit). I think it's my favourite pub so far; even above St. Georges Vault and the Jolly Brewmaster. It has so much character, a fantastic selection of real ale, great food -- the steak and ale pie was amazing -- and an award-winning garden out back.






Our new pig friendsWith our whistles wet and bellies sated, we set off on one of the Level 1 walks in our guide book that would take us past Sudeley Castle. Navigating the first part was a breeze, but as we were trekking across a field, avoiding the sheep and their droppings, we came across this description of the next leg:

Maintain your diagonal course through a break in the middle of the right-hand hedge until you reach a protruding corner and then turn with the fence up the hill to a stile in the overgrown corner.

What the heck is a stile? I know now, but we were pretty far from Wikipedia at the time. Still we made due, cutting across a farm and being chased by some really big pigs! It was one of those train-wrecks where the pigs started walking faster, then we did, 'til we were practically running and scrambling over the gate just as they caught us. Good times!


Sudeley CastleAt that point I was able to sync up with our guide book again, and just as we were running out of steam, Sudeley Castle appeared on the horizon. They gave us a discount on admission since it was close to closing time, and we still had time for some refreshments in the cafe, got to see a few exhibits, and took in the beautiful gardens and church as well. Then it was back to the White Hart Inn for a pint and a Ploughman's platter; strange music, but the Jouster went down well. (It's so much better on draught than in the bottle, incidentally.)


The boot sale meat auction!After all that walking, a slower day was on the bill for Sunday. We started with the boot sale -- car boots, that is -- at the Cheltenham Raceway, which was basically a big garage sale, and then went to Staples to buy the printer that we never could've gotten home without a car. While Tea was setting that up, I kicked back to watch the Sunderland vs. Wolverhampton Wanderers Premier League match on our new Sky TV set-up; even paused it while I mowed the lawn. Ah, the comforts of home. :-)