Thank you, jay. It wouldn't have been such a blow to us if we had been allowed a vote - but of course we are regarded as tainted because we have lived with foreigners too long. Yesterday, a Brexiter called us traitors.
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Bill's Travels
- Thread starter BillB
- Start Date
Political interlude over and it's back to the travelling.
The date for Jackie’s operation soon came around. I drove her to the hospital during the afternoon of the day prior to her surgery, checked her in, noted the things she needed that she had forgotten and was duly thrown out of her room by the nursing staff who came in to prepare her, check out her medication (statins) and served her with a light meal which was all she would be allowed before the op.
I went home, sorted out her requirements for the next day then went out later for dinner. Although my hobby is cooking, my heart wasn’t in it without Jackie to share it so I went to a local Indian where we are regular customers.
Next day she was out of intensive care and back in her room and surprisingly perky considering she had had major surgery that morning. She also had a roommate who had undergone surgery a few days previously. Surprisingly, Jackie wasn’t in pain from the area of the operation (her hip, which had been replaced) but further down close to her knee. Another case of radiating pain.
Since that day she has been improving to such an extent that I could see how quickly she was recuperating from one day to the next.
She had asked the surgeon how long would she be in the clinic after the op. He gave her the same answer he gave her when she had her knee replaced, “You’ll know when you’re ready.” And she did know after the knee procedure and was back home 9 days after she came out of intensive care. This time, 5 years later, she was out after 8 days. She had had the instruction in using crutches before she left, how to climb or descend stairs, traverse rough ground, etc., etc.
She was scheduled for 20 sessions of physiotherapy, at 3 sessions a week by the time that was finished she was pretty active again, but still needed a little more time living a normal life - going to the supermarket, or to the cinema.
She wanted to see how she would tolerate a longish car journey so we decided that a week in France would answer that question. And thus we headed off to Beaune in the Burgundy region for 3 nights then swing southeast to Lons-le-Saunier.
That went very well - we arrived in Beaune after a 4 hour drive and she had tolerated that very well. We checked into the Mercure Hotel where we had stayed once before, gave her a little time for her hip to settle down after being in one position in our car for the journey and then went down to the hotel’s restaurant for dinner.
As with our previous stay, the dinner was excellent though, to be honest, it’s usually difficult to find a bad restaurant in rural France.
After our meal we took a walk into the town centre to suss out a few places to visit during the rest of our stay. As we remembered, the Hospice de Beaune was just a short walk from the hotel, so we checked the opening times to make sure we arrived at the appropriate time. We strolled around for half an hour or so then made our way back to the hotel where we stopped off in the bar and had a drink. Jackie was delighted that she had made the journey without much discomfort and had then enjoyed the stroll around the old town and still felt good. Her progress was definitely encouraging.
Next day, after a rather good breakfast we walked down to the Hospice de Beaune and bought tickets for an unconducted visit. We found this hospital, founded in 1443, to be an amazing site, having been used as a workhouse for the poor, then a hospice and finally a hospital which it remained until the 1960s.
After passing through the entrance the visitor finds himself in a courtyard surrounded by the hospital buildings. This is a sight that will stop you in your tracks - the roofs alone draw the eye on their own as they have coloured tiles which are mounted in patterns, making them jaw-droppingly beautiful, sitting as they do atop the Gothic buildings.
We went into the first building on the left, which contained an exhibit covering the history of the hospice. After traversing this area we found ourselves inside the hospital main ward, restored and furnished with the beds which the patients occupied during their treatments. The beds lined the walls, head to foot, and each bed could be isolated by pulling the surrounding curtains closed.
We moved on, learning the history of the place, examining the collections of medical and surgical instruments (they make you glad that you were born years later).
While there I visited the loo and discovered they were exquisitely tiled in blue and white, giving an impression of taste and luxury.
After that we had an omelette and salad for lunch in a small restaurant not far away and then bought tickets for a tour of Beaune - much easier than driving around ourselves and with a commentary about the history and background of what we were seeing into the bargain.
We saw an awful lot of Beaune, which is an interesting town with lots of history and a reputation for producing high quality burgundy wines, a couple of which we had sampled with dinner the evening before.
After returning to the town centre we did a bit of window shopping and picked up a couple of maps of the area. Returning to the hotel I went onto the internet to look for a restaurant not too far away and found one that sounded definitely promising: plenty of parking nearby and with good reviews from customers. I made a reservation online and around 7 we headed off for L’Air du Temps, for such was the restaurant’s name.
Just before we left the hotel I started to feel a discomfort in my stomach and it didn’t improve while we took our aperitifs and studied the menu. I was looking forward to trying the boeuf bourgignon as it’s this region’s signature dish and the Burgundians have been working on improving it for centuries so that it has now reached a pinnacle among regional cooking. The beef’s long marination in local red wine and vegetables. followed by a long, slow simmering brings out a depth and richness to the flavours that admits you to culinary heaven.
The waitress, friendly and welcoming, took our order, but no sooner had she left than I had to make a dash for the loo.
Returning to the table I had to beckon the waitress over and explain that I would have to cancel my order as I was not able to eat anything. The waitress was sympathetic and the owner came over to see if she could help. I explained the situation, which she fully understood and I made a reservation for the following evening.
Jackie asked if I wanted to leave but I insisted that she have her evening meal - after all, I was uncomfortable but not ready to collapse into bed. She loved the beef and sang its praises. I sipped my whisky - which helped a little - while she enjoyed dinner, and admitted to feeling guilty.
Back at the hotel I collapsed into bed, rising from time to time to visit the bathroom. Amazingly, next morning I felt fine with no trace of the previous evening’s problem. I ate a hearty breakfast, feeling very hungry, and we decided while eating that we would drive the Route du Vin, which would take us past all the major vineyards in the area.
We turned onto the principal road, turning north, and drove for about 15 minutes before the map we were using indicated a vineyard off to the left. We turned and followed a minor road for a few kilometres, passing row after row of vines. We didn’t really want to buy wine, which I know sounds crazy if you’re visiting a major wine producing area, but our cellar is full right now, not only from our own earlier travels but also from a major donation of wine from our eldest son who gave it to us when he moved to France’s Atlantic coast with his new wife to open their own business.
We explored the area nevertheless, took some photos of the vines now in their winter mode, pruned and cut back to bear the most fruit next year.
We enjoyed a day driving on the back roads between vineyards, stopping for lunch at a delightful little restaurant way off the beaten track. Once we had reached the northernmost point of the wine region we returned to the Route du Vin and headed south where we carried on with the same process, following the back roads to explore the vineyards, ending up in the beautiful little village of Santenay which has a lovely square with an attractive fountain, and shops and picturesque restaurants lining it. It was by now late afternoon and we sat there, just enjoying the sheer pleasure of this delightful little corner of France.
The date for Jackie’s operation soon came around. I drove her to the hospital during the afternoon of the day prior to her surgery, checked her in, noted the things she needed that she had forgotten and was duly thrown out of her room by the nursing staff who came in to prepare her, check out her medication (statins) and served her with a light meal which was all she would be allowed before the op.
I went home, sorted out her requirements for the next day then went out later for dinner. Although my hobby is cooking, my heart wasn’t in it without Jackie to share it so I went to a local Indian where we are regular customers.
Next day she was out of intensive care and back in her room and surprisingly perky considering she had had major surgery that morning. She also had a roommate who had undergone surgery a few days previously. Surprisingly, Jackie wasn’t in pain from the area of the operation (her hip, which had been replaced) but further down close to her knee. Another case of radiating pain.
Since that day she has been improving to such an extent that I could see how quickly she was recuperating from one day to the next.
She had asked the surgeon how long would she be in the clinic after the op. He gave her the same answer he gave her when she had her knee replaced, “You’ll know when you’re ready.” And she did know after the knee procedure and was back home 9 days after she came out of intensive care. This time, 5 years later, she was out after 8 days. She had had the instruction in using crutches before she left, how to climb or descend stairs, traverse rough ground, etc., etc.
She was scheduled for 20 sessions of physiotherapy, at 3 sessions a week by the time that was finished she was pretty active again, but still needed a little more time living a normal life - going to the supermarket, or to the cinema.
She wanted to see how she would tolerate a longish car journey so we decided that a week in France would answer that question. And thus we headed off to Beaune in the Burgundy region for 3 nights then swing southeast to Lons-le-Saunier.
That went very well - we arrived in Beaune after a 4 hour drive and she had tolerated that very well. We checked into the Mercure Hotel where we had stayed once before, gave her a little time for her hip to settle down after being in one position in our car for the journey and then went down to the hotel’s restaurant for dinner.
As with our previous stay, the dinner was excellent though, to be honest, it’s usually difficult to find a bad restaurant in rural France.
After our meal we took a walk into the town centre to suss out a few places to visit during the rest of our stay. As we remembered, the Hospice de Beaune was just a short walk from the hotel, so we checked the opening times to make sure we arrived at the appropriate time. We strolled around for half an hour or so then made our way back to the hotel where we stopped off in the bar and had a drink. Jackie was delighted that she had made the journey without much discomfort and had then enjoyed the stroll around the old town and still felt good. Her progress was definitely encouraging.
Next day, after a rather good breakfast we walked down to the Hospice de Beaune and bought tickets for an unconducted visit. We found this hospital, founded in 1443, to be an amazing site, having been used as a workhouse for the poor, then a hospice and finally a hospital which it remained until the 1960s.
After passing through the entrance the visitor finds himself in a courtyard surrounded by the hospital buildings. This is a sight that will stop you in your tracks - the roofs alone draw the eye on their own as they have coloured tiles which are mounted in patterns, making them jaw-droppingly beautiful, sitting as they do atop the Gothic buildings.
We went into the first building on the left, which contained an exhibit covering the history of the hospice. After traversing this area we found ourselves inside the hospital main ward, restored and furnished with the beds which the patients occupied during their treatments. The beds lined the walls, head to foot, and each bed could be isolated by pulling the surrounding curtains closed.
We moved on, learning the history of the place, examining the collections of medical and surgical instruments (they make you glad that you were born years later).
While there I visited the loo and discovered they were exquisitely tiled in blue and white, giving an impression of taste and luxury.
After that we had an omelette and salad for lunch in a small restaurant not far away and then bought tickets for a tour of Beaune - much easier than driving around ourselves and with a commentary about the history and background of what we were seeing into the bargain.
We saw an awful lot of Beaune, which is an interesting town with lots of history and a reputation for producing high quality burgundy wines, a couple of which we had sampled with dinner the evening before.
After returning to the town centre we did a bit of window shopping and picked up a couple of maps of the area. Returning to the hotel I went onto the internet to look for a restaurant not too far away and found one that sounded definitely promising: plenty of parking nearby and with good reviews from customers. I made a reservation online and around 7 we headed off for L’Air du Temps, for such was the restaurant’s name.
Just before we left the hotel I started to feel a discomfort in my stomach and it didn’t improve while we took our aperitifs and studied the menu. I was looking forward to trying the boeuf bourgignon as it’s this region’s signature dish and the Burgundians have been working on improving it for centuries so that it has now reached a pinnacle among regional cooking. The beef’s long marination in local red wine and vegetables. followed by a long, slow simmering brings out a depth and richness to the flavours that admits you to culinary heaven.
The waitress, friendly and welcoming, took our order, but no sooner had she left than I had to make a dash for the loo.
Returning to the table I had to beckon the waitress over and explain that I would have to cancel my order as I was not able to eat anything. The waitress was sympathetic and the owner came over to see if she could help. I explained the situation, which she fully understood and I made a reservation for the following evening.
Jackie asked if I wanted to leave but I insisted that she have her evening meal - after all, I was uncomfortable but not ready to collapse into bed. She loved the beef and sang its praises. I sipped my whisky - which helped a little - while she enjoyed dinner, and admitted to feeling guilty.
Back at the hotel I collapsed into bed, rising from time to time to visit the bathroom. Amazingly, next morning I felt fine with no trace of the previous evening’s problem. I ate a hearty breakfast, feeling very hungry, and we decided while eating that we would drive the Route du Vin, which would take us past all the major vineyards in the area.
We turned onto the principal road, turning north, and drove for about 15 minutes before the map we were using indicated a vineyard off to the left. We turned and followed a minor road for a few kilometres, passing row after row of vines. We didn’t really want to buy wine, which I know sounds crazy if you’re visiting a major wine producing area, but our cellar is full right now, not only from our own earlier travels but also from a major donation of wine from our eldest son who gave it to us when he moved to France’s Atlantic coast with his new wife to open their own business.
We explored the area nevertheless, took some photos of the vines now in their winter mode, pruned and cut back to bear the most fruit next year.
We enjoyed a day driving on the back roads between vineyards, stopping for lunch at a delightful little restaurant way off the beaten track. Once we had reached the northernmost point of the wine region we returned to the Route du Vin and headed south where we carried on with the same process, following the back roads to explore the vineyards, ending up in the beautiful little village of Santenay which has a lovely square with an attractive fountain, and shops and picturesque restaurants lining it. It was by now late afternoon and we sat there, just enjoying the sheer pleasure of this delightful little corner of France.
For dinner that evening we returned to the L’Air du Temps. I was greeted with great solicitude but I was able to assure the owner that I felt 100% better. And I ordered the Boeuf bourguignon.
Feeling a lot brighter than the evening before, I savoured my whisky and studied the wine list as we waited. And the wait was well worth it - the slow cooked chunks of beef were meltingly tender, the broth in which it was cooked consisted of red wine, water, and herbs and this is simmered on a low heat for several hours, then the vegetables are added a half hour before serving. And the final ingredient, button mushrooms, is added around 10 minutes before serving. If you’re hungry, and, boy, was I hungry, your first instinct is to scoff it down quickly, but this is to do an injustice to the centuries of cooks who have developed this dish to the pinnacle it now occupies.
I followed this with a selection from the cheese board, all in fine condition, the way cheeses should be eaten.
Our destination next morning was Lons-le-Saunier, named after the salt production industry that at one time was one of the mainstays of the region. Saunier means “salt worker” in French.
It was only a couple of hours’ drive but our room was ready, even though we were a little early.
After unpacking, we went for a drive out to Les Cascades du Hérisson (Hedgehog Waterfalls). This is a valley into which a number of rivers and streams pour their waters from the cliffs and slopes around it. Some of the falls are only 2 metres high, while the highest is almost 20 metres. With time a little short we headed for the last cascade, the 20 metre one, parked the car, and walked up the stream leading to the falls.
The walk itself was chock full of interest as we followed the river to where we could hear the roar of the tumbling water. The last time we had been here, around 8 years previously, there had been bathers cavorting in the pools below the falls. This time it was a lot cooler and the pools were devoid of human life.
We struggled over the rocks to the base of the falls, keeping ourselves clear of the spray that was thrown up by the tumbling cascades. We took plenty of photos (thank goodness for digital cameras) and then made our way slowly back to the car.
On our way back to the town we passed a hotel and restaurant where we had had dinner with friends on our previous visit which was called the Hostellerie des Monts Jura. We had enjoyed the meal very much, as the food was excellent and the dining room was elegantly comfortable. I suggested to Jackie that it might be a good place for dinner that evening, and as she was agreeable I made a reservation online when we got back to our hotel.
After freshening up and changing we made our way back out to our dinner rendezvous. We were greeted like old friends (I’m sure they couldn’t possibly have remembered us from our previous visit 6 years or so ago) but were given our choice of table, a menu, a wine list and our aperitifs were produced in very quick time. They have an à la carte menu, and a series of set menus, each course having two or more choices. Now, this being October, it’s the season for wild mushrooms and game, so we both ordered the Croute Forestière to start, a selection of wild mushrooms such as cèpes, trompettes de mort, pleurottes and field mushrooms cooked in a sauce with a crispy puff pastry covering. It was so delicious that I was almost crosseyed with sheer pleasure. Second course was a freshwater fish, sandre, (pike perch in English) in a Savignon sauce. I’m currently drooling over my keyboard just thinking of this dish. For dessert I ordered the pears poached in red wine with spicy bread to mop up.
When we left we reserved a table for the following night, as we felt that the menu had offerings that we really should try.
In bed that evening, my mind meandered through the menu of this restaurant, trying to decide what I should order for dinner tomorrow. It’s a hard life, I know, but someone has to make the sacrifice.
The next day we drove out to the Cirque de Baume, which is what the French call a reculée, a horseshoe shaped geological feature formed when the ice cap in the last ice age pushed its way south, terraforming the land. This resulted in pushing the surface of the land southwards, leaving these valleys which end in a horseshoe-shaped cut. We parked the car, walked up past the waterfall which feeds the river running down the valley and made our way to the cave which is normally open to the public. Alas, it closes in autumn and you can’t even walk up to the entrance, where you have to pass underneath a river which emerges from the cliff face above the entrance and jets outwards to join the river up which we had toiled.
From there we drove about a mile to the monastery in the nearest village. By this time of the afternoon the monastery was closed to visitors, so we stopped and had a coffee at a nearby café where we relaxed in the westering sun, basking in the warmth that reflected from the ancient stone from which the buildings were constructed.
That evening we returned to the hostellerie which was as good as our previous visit. This time I tried the wild boar, which was a concerto of flavours and left me wishing that this restaurant was just a few minutes drive from our village in Luxembourg. I would have become a weekly client in no time.
When we left the owner bade us a fond farewell and reminded us that they were also a hotel. I promised him that the next time we visited the town, we would stay at his hotel. Food like this is not easily found, even in France.
Just exploring the surrounding area kept us occupied the next day. We discovered a lake on the map but it was strangely difficult to reach. We kept coming upon signs directing us to the lake but every time the way just petered out. We would follow a sign that indicated the lake until we reached a sign that told us the lake was down the road we had just traversed. There had been no indication that we were anywhere near it, yet the next sign would point back to the way we had come. Finally I gave up and we settled for an ice cream in a small cafe.
Dinner that evening was taken in Lons-le-Saunier itself, at a restaurant called the Restaurant du Grand Theatre, which is situated at the head of the main square. We started with snails in garlic butter and followed this with shrimps in a cream sauce. We had to forego any idea of dessert after that.
Fortunately, the walk back to the hotel was straightforward as we were pretty well bloated after three evenings of excellent dinners. What was also surprising was that eating out in rural France is not going to break even the most modest bank.
Feeling a lot brighter than the evening before, I savoured my whisky and studied the wine list as we waited. And the wait was well worth it - the slow cooked chunks of beef were meltingly tender, the broth in which it was cooked consisted of red wine, water, and herbs and this is simmered on a low heat for several hours, then the vegetables are added a half hour before serving. And the final ingredient, button mushrooms, is added around 10 minutes before serving. If you’re hungry, and, boy, was I hungry, your first instinct is to scoff it down quickly, but this is to do an injustice to the centuries of cooks who have developed this dish to the pinnacle it now occupies.
I followed this with a selection from the cheese board, all in fine condition, the way cheeses should be eaten.
Our destination next morning was Lons-le-Saunier, named after the salt production industry that at one time was one of the mainstays of the region. Saunier means “salt worker” in French.
It was only a couple of hours’ drive but our room was ready, even though we were a little early.
After unpacking, we went for a drive out to Les Cascades du Hérisson (Hedgehog Waterfalls). This is a valley into which a number of rivers and streams pour their waters from the cliffs and slopes around it. Some of the falls are only 2 metres high, while the highest is almost 20 metres. With time a little short we headed for the last cascade, the 20 metre one, parked the car, and walked up the stream leading to the falls.
The walk itself was chock full of interest as we followed the river to where we could hear the roar of the tumbling water. The last time we had been here, around 8 years previously, there had been bathers cavorting in the pools below the falls. This time it was a lot cooler and the pools were devoid of human life.
We struggled over the rocks to the base of the falls, keeping ourselves clear of the spray that was thrown up by the tumbling cascades. We took plenty of photos (thank goodness for digital cameras) and then made our way slowly back to the car.
On our way back to the town we passed a hotel and restaurant where we had had dinner with friends on our previous visit which was called the Hostellerie des Monts Jura. We had enjoyed the meal very much, as the food was excellent and the dining room was elegantly comfortable. I suggested to Jackie that it might be a good place for dinner that evening, and as she was agreeable I made a reservation online when we got back to our hotel.
After freshening up and changing we made our way back out to our dinner rendezvous. We were greeted like old friends (I’m sure they couldn’t possibly have remembered us from our previous visit 6 years or so ago) but were given our choice of table, a menu, a wine list and our aperitifs were produced in very quick time. They have an à la carte menu, and a series of set menus, each course having two or more choices. Now, this being October, it’s the season for wild mushrooms and game, so we both ordered the Croute Forestière to start, a selection of wild mushrooms such as cèpes, trompettes de mort, pleurottes and field mushrooms cooked in a sauce with a crispy puff pastry covering. It was so delicious that I was almost crosseyed with sheer pleasure. Second course was a freshwater fish, sandre, (pike perch in English) in a Savignon sauce. I’m currently drooling over my keyboard just thinking of this dish. For dessert I ordered the pears poached in red wine with spicy bread to mop up.
When we left we reserved a table for the following night, as we felt that the menu had offerings that we really should try.
In bed that evening, my mind meandered through the menu of this restaurant, trying to decide what I should order for dinner tomorrow. It’s a hard life, I know, but someone has to make the sacrifice.
The next day we drove out to the Cirque de Baume, which is what the French call a reculée, a horseshoe shaped geological feature formed when the ice cap in the last ice age pushed its way south, terraforming the land. This resulted in pushing the surface of the land southwards, leaving these valleys which end in a horseshoe-shaped cut. We parked the car, walked up past the waterfall which feeds the river running down the valley and made our way to the cave which is normally open to the public. Alas, it closes in autumn and you can’t even walk up to the entrance, where you have to pass underneath a river which emerges from the cliff face above the entrance and jets outwards to join the river up which we had toiled.
From there we drove about a mile to the monastery in the nearest village. By this time of the afternoon the monastery was closed to visitors, so we stopped and had a coffee at a nearby café where we relaxed in the westering sun, basking in the warmth that reflected from the ancient stone from which the buildings were constructed.
That evening we returned to the hostellerie which was as good as our previous visit. This time I tried the wild boar, which was a concerto of flavours and left me wishing that this restaurant was just a few minutes drive from our village in Luxembourg. I would have become a weekly client in no time.
When we left the owner bade us a fond farewell and reminded us that they were also a hotel. I promised him that the next time we visited the town, we would stay at his hotel. Food like this is not easily found, even in France.
Just exploring the surrounding area kept us occupied the next day. We discovered a lake on the map but it was strangely difficult to reach. We kept coming upon signs directing us to the lake but every time the way just petered out. We would follow a sign that indicated the lake until we reached a sign that told us the lake was down the road we had just traversed. There had been no indication that we were anywhere near it, yet the next sign would point back to the way we had come. Finally I gave up and we settled for an ice cream in a small cafe.
Dinner that evening was taken in Lons-le-Saunier itself, at a restaurant called the Restaurant du Grand Theatre, which is situated at the head of the main square. We started with snails in garlic butter and followed this with shrimps in a cream sauce. We had to forego any idea of dessert after that.
Fortunately, the walk back to the hotel was straightforward as we were pretty well bloated after three evenings of excellent dinners. What was also surprising was that eating out in rural France is not going to break even the most modest bank.
We have a couple of trips lined during the next six months or so. Next week we shall be driving to England as our grandson has joined the army after a determined campaign to lose weight and get fit. He is coming to the end of his basic training and we are going to attend his passing out parade. His father, our youngest son, is coming over from Palm Springs, our eldest son is coming from his new home on the Atlantic coast of France. So it’s going to be a big reunion before our grandson goes on to his regimental training. After the parade we will all drive to Greenwich where both sons and grandson are going to watch Charlton Athletic play on Saturday. Me? I find football utterly boring, so Jackie and I will be getting in a visit to my cousin’s art exhibit where he has joined up with his cousin, another artist, to display (and hopefully sell) their latest works.
For Christmas I’m fulfilling the promise I made to Jackie back in 1969 to visit Monte Carlo. I went there for the Grand Prix to write an article for a magazine and when I returned I promised her I would take her there one day. That day has now arrived. What the heck, you can’t take it with you.
Then later on in the new year we’re planning on a trip to the west coast of France to spend a week or so with our eldest son and his wife. We’ve never been to that particular area so it will be a great reunion and a chance to explore that particular part of France.
In May we’re booked on a river cruise from Amsterdam to Budapest. There’s a lot of towns on the route of our cruise that we haven’t visited yet and this cruise gives us the chance to do so and to view the countryside surrounding both the Rhine and the Danube. After we leave the ship we’ll be spending a couple of days in Prague on an extension.
Shortly after getting back we have to make another flying visit to Kent to attend my cousin’s, the artist’s, wedding.
And now the triumph of hope over expertence! Disregarding the downpour of biblical proportions that we experienced in Maastricht at the André Rieu open air concert last year we are going to do it again in July. Not only did Jackie manage to get tickets despite the fact that they sell out within an hour or so of being announced, we splashed out for the VIP package which gives us not only a guaranteed seat in the first three rows, but also an overnight in a fantastic hotel with slap up dinner, and a tour of André Rieu’s home, a castle nearby. Jackie was so disappointed last year that I couldn’t say no. And as I said earlier, you can’t take it with you.
Our friends in California, Claire and Terry have put their house on the market and are planning to buy another at Lake of the Pines, a gated community built around a lake. The nearest towns are Auburn and Sacramento, so once they have settled in we may well fly over and see how they’re holding up.
For Christmas I’m fulfilling the promise I made to Jackie back in 1969 to visit Monte Carlo. I went there for the Grand Prix to write an article for a magazine and when I returned I promised her I would take her there one day. That day has now arrived. What the heck, you can’t take it with you.
Then later on in the new year we’re planning on a trip to the west coast of France to spend a week or so with our eldest son and his wife. We’ve never been to that particular area so it will be a great reunion and a chance to explore that particular part of France.
In May we’re booked on a river cruise from Amsterdam to Budapest. There’s a lot of towns on the route of our cruise that we haven’t visited yet and this cruise gives us the chance to do so and to view the countryside surrounding both the Rhine and the Danube. After we leave the ship we’ll be spending a couple of days in Prague on an extension.
Shortly after getting back we have to make another flying visit to Kent to attend my cousin’s, the artist’s, wedding.
And now the triumph of hope over expertence! Disregarding the downpour of biblical proportions that we experienced in Maastricht at the André Rieu open air concert last year we are going to do it again in July. Not only did Jackie manage to get tickets despite the fact that they sell out within an hour or so of being announced, we splashed out for the VIP package which gives us not only a guaranteed seat in the first three rows, but also an overnight in a fantastic hotel with slap up dinner, and a tour of André Rieu’s home, a castle nearby. Jackie was so disappointed last year that I couldn’t say no. And as I said earlier, you can’t take it with you.
Our friends in California, Claire and Terry have put their house on the market and are planning to buy another at Lake of the Pines, a gated community built around a lake. The nearest towns are Auburn and Sacramento, so once they have settled in we may well fly over and see how they’re holding up.
The time for our trip to the UK for our grandson’s passing out parade to mark the end of his basic training and the beginning of his new career as a professional soldier was soon upon us. We were all going to meet up at our hotel in Woking the day before except, of course, our grandson who would be polishing his boots and brasses, cleaning his rifle and pressing his uniform. His Dad, our youngest son, flew over from Palm Springs, our eldest son took the TGV and the Eurostar from his new home in France, and Jackie and I drove up from Luxembourg.
I can’t say that the journey, in either direction was an unalloyed pleasure. The traffic slowed us down within 20 minutes of leaving home. It’s always heavy during the rush hour but this day it seemed particularly bad. But no sooner had we begun to speed up we were brought to a crawl again by an accident ahead. I had been considering leaving the motorway at the next exit, but that was exactly where the accident had occurred. There were several police cars at the side of the motorway and various heavily damaged cars scattered around on the right lane, the slip road and on the exit itself.
Once we had left the bumper cars behind we were able to pick up speed again, finally crossing the border into Belgium about 15 minutes later. It took us over an hour to get from our home to Belgium - a drive that usually takes us just under 30 minutes.
We were further delayed by a series of road works throughout Belgium, to such an extent that we began to think we would miss the ferry we were booked on. But we needn’t have worried - when we pulled up at check in we were told that our ferry had been cancelled due to storms in the Channel. We had a wait of a couple of hours but boarded without further problems.
The Channel was indeed rough, but we had booked into the Club Lounge which is generally quieter and more comfortable. We settled ourselves down, were served with a pot of tea and biscuits and immersed ourselves in our iPads. A while later we ordered a sandwich apiece as lunchtime had passed quite a while ago.
The sea was pretty rough with hefty-looking waves smacking into us regularly. The good point about these ferries is that they are well stabilised so the effects of the storm were muted on board. And believe me, as a regular sufferer from seasickness, I know when a boat is stabilised.
Despite the weather the crossing was pretty quick and before we knew it we were cruising alongside the white cliffs towards Dover harbour.
Once off the ferry we drove through Dover to the M20, then onto the M25 and subsequently towards Woking. We received a phone call from our two sons who were sitting in the bar of the hotel and waiting for us to show up. We gave them an estimated time of arrival from the GPS and were there within an hour. I checked in while Jackie greeted the boys (read men). I received the key cards, took the bags up to the room and came back down to join my family. We had a good reunion, enjoyed a couple of drinks together and caught up with everybody’s news. We worked out a timetable for the next day and then left our sons to freshen up.
We assembled in the bar an hour or so later and then, after an aperitif, moved into the restaurant for dinner. We stretched the meal out until I began to feel exhaustion creeping up on me and after reconfirming the next morning’s timetable, went up to our room where I unpacked my clothes for the next morning and flopped into bed.
Breakfast was a surprisingly good meal with freshly fried eggs, bacon, sausages and the usual dishes that make up the great British breakfast. Our sons had decided to go for breakfast to a nearby cafe for a full English so we didn’t see them until they returned, by which time we had checked out of the hotel and were waiting for them in the lobby.
From there it was a short drive to Pirbright where our grandson had just completed his basic training. We joined the short line of cars being checked in and I was impressed by the efficiency of the system, but then I remembered the efficiency I observed during my military service in the Royal Air Force and I thought that this was one of the things that hadn’t been lost to the austerity forced on the services by successive governments.
We drove along roads inside the military establishment, all carefully signposted, and were directed onto a parade square to park. From there we made our way to a building where we waited until it was close to starting time. Coffee, tea and water was available and it became quite crowded as more and more families of the recruits arrived.
Finally, the time we had all waited for came when we were directed outside and led to the grandstand overlooking the parade square. The sky was almost clear of clouds and the sun was shining directly into the grandstand, so we climbed to the next to last row so that we were neither blinded by the sun nor unable to take photos in the glare.
After a short wait for everybody to get seated a military band marched in, halted on the far side of the square and after a few minutes started to play. While this was being played we saw a squad of 30 soldiers, rifles at the slope, march towards us on the road leading to the square. They came to a halt while another squad marched on and halted behind them, then a third squad marched towards us and halted. The band ended their piece and, after waiting a few seconds, struck up a march and the first squad began to march onto the square, followed shortly afterwards by the second squad, and then the third.
Everyone in the stand was avidly trying to spot their family member in the ranks, but with all of them in uniform it was difficult to pick out your soldier.They marched around the square, giving us the chance to spot our grandson in the first squad.
When they had traversed the four sides of the square they came to a halt. Each squad was then inspected by the brigadier who was the senior officer present. There was also a representative of the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force.
When the inspection was completed the squads once again marched around the square while the families cheered them on. Then they marched off and we made our way back to the reception area where the former recruits would arrive after stowing their weapons.
Tea, coffee and soft drinks were available while we waited and before long the young trainees began arriving to greet their families.
We were so surprised to see our grandson in his full uniform, looking every inch a good soldier. He had worked hard to get into the army, including losing 4 kilos, and getting into physical trim to pass the medical. The army is a lot choosier now that it used to be.
We told him how proud we were of him and the commitment he had shown to his chosen career. I slipped him a handful of notes, remembering how welcome cash gifts were when I was in the RAF.
Unfortunately, all too soon we had to leave as I wanted to traverse the M25 before the rush hour began. But we were going to meet up with him the next day in London.
So we took off to negotiate the largest car park in Britain to our hotel in Greenwich, where we would be spending the next two nights.
I can’t say that the journey, in either direction was an unalloyed pleasure. The traffic slowed us down within 20 minutes of leaving home. It’s always heavy during the rush hour but this day it seemed particularly bad. But no sooner had we begun to speed up we were brought to a crawl again by an accident ahead. I had been considering leaving the motorway at the next exit, but that was exactly where the accident had occurred. There were several police cars at the side of the motorway and various heavily damaged cars scattered around on the right lane, the slip road and on the exit itself.
Once we had left the bumper cars behind we were able to pick up speed again, finally crossing the border into Belgium about 15 minutes later. It took us over an hour to get from our home to Belgium - a drive that usually takes us just under 30 minutes.
We were further delayed by a series of road works throughout Belgium, to such an extent that we began to think we would miss the ferry we were booked on. But we needn’t have worried - when we pulled up at check in we were told that our ferry had been cancelled due to storms in the Channel. We had a wait of a couple of hours but boarded without further problems.
The Channel was indeed rough, but we had booked into the Club Lounge which is generally quieter and more comfortable. We settled ourselves down, were served with a pot of tea and biscuits and immersed ourselves in our iPads. A while later we ordered a sandwich apiece as lunchtime had passed quite a while ago.
The sea was pretty rough with hefty-looking waves smacking into us regularly. The good point about these ferries is that they are well stabilised so the effects of the storm were muted on board. And believe me, as a regular sufferer from seasickness, I know when a boat is stabilised.
Despite the weather the crossing was pretty quick and before we knew it we were cruising alongside the white cliffs towards Dover harbour.
Once off the ferry we drove through Dover to the M20, then onto the M25 and subsequently towards Woking. We received a phone call from our two sons who were sitting in the bar of the hotel and waiting for us to show up. We gave them an estimated time of arrival from the GPS and were there within an hour. I checked in while Jackie greeted the boys (read men). I received the key cards, took the bags up to the room and came back down to join my family. We had a good reunion, enjoyed a couple of drinks together and caught up with everybody’s news. We worked out a timetable for the next day and then left our sons to freshen up.
We assembled in the bar an hour or so later and then, after an aperitif, moved into the restaurant for dinner. We stretched the meal out until I began to feel exhaustion creeping up on me and after reconfirming the next morning’s timetable, went up to our room where I unpacked my clothes for the next morning and flopped into bed.
Breakfast was a surprisingly good meal with freshly fried eggs, bacon, sausages and the usual dishes that make up the great British breakfast. Our sons had decided to go for breakfast to a nearby cafe for a full English so we didn’t see them until they returned, by which time we had checked out of the hotel and were waiting for them in the lobby.
From there it was a short drive to Pirbright where our grandson had just completed his basic training. We joined the short line of cars being checked in and I was impressed by the efficiency of the system, but then I remembered the efficiency I observed during my military service in the Royal Air Force and I thought that this was one of the things that hadn’t been lost to the austerity forced on the services by successive governments.
We drove along roads inside the military establishment, all carefully signposted, and were directed onto a parade square to park. From there we made our way to a building where we waited until it was close to starting time. Coffee, tea and water was available and it became quite crowded as more and more families of the recruits arrived.
Finally, the time we had all waited for came when we were directed outside and led to the grandstand overlooking the parade square. The sky was almost clear of clouds and the sun was shining directly into the grandstand, so we climbed to the next to last row so that we were neither blinded by the sun nor unable to take photos in the glare.
After a short wait for everybody to get seated a military band marched in, halted on the far side of the square and after a few minutes started to play. While this was being played we saw a squad of 30 soldiers, rifles at the slope, march towards us on the road leading to the square. They came to a halt while another squad marched on and halted behind them, then a third squad marched towards us and halted. The band ended their piece and, after waiting a few seconds, struck up a march and the first squad began to march onto the square, followed shortly afterwards by the second squad, and then the third.
Everyone in the stand was avidly trying to spot their family member in the ranks, but with all of them in uniform it was difficult to pick out your soldier.They marched around the square, giving us the chance to spot our grandson in the first squad.
When they had traversed the four sides of the square they came to a halt. Each squad was then inspected by the brigadier who was the senior officer present. There was also a representative of the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force.
When the inspection was completed the squads once again marched around the square while the families cheered them on. Then they marched off and we made our way back to the reception area where the former recruits would arrive after stowing their weapons.
Tea, coffee and soft drinks were available while we waited and before long the young trainees began arriving to greet their families.
We were so surprised to see our grandson in his full uniform, looking every inch a good soldier. He had worked hard to get into the army, including losing 4 kilos, and getting into physical trim to pass the medical. The army is a lot choosier now that it used to be.
We told him how proud we were of him and the commitment he had shown to his chosen career. I slipped him a handful of notes, remembering how welcome cash gifts were when I was in the RAF.
Unfortunately, all too soon we had to leave as I wanted to traverse the M25 before the rush hour began. But we were going to meet up with him the next day in London.
So we took off to negotiate the largest car park in Britain to our hotel in Greenwich, where we would be spending the next two nights.
We checked into the Ibis Hotel in Greenwich and took a break for a couple of hours before heading out to look for a restaurant to have dinner. There is a very good Indian restaurant nearby where we had eaten on a previous visit. It turned out to still serve very good food and we enjoyed a pleasant evening.
Next morning we were up bright and early as we wanted to make a few purchases and this was our last full day. Breakfast was enlivened by an argument of gigantic proportions going on in the kitchen. The Ibis itself doesn’t have a restaurant but there is a Café Rouge attached to the hotel with access from the lobby.
We listened in fascination as two voices were raised to a decibel level that would cause pain to any dogs who happened to be passing. Our breakfast was delivered to our table and I once again appreciated how kind a full English breakfast is to a diabetic’s BS levels. Just think of it, poached eggs, tomato, bacon and sausages accompanied by a large pot of tea. The only questionable item being the sausages, but even they don’t set the carb count to anywhere near levels that cause any worry. As we ate, a man hustled one of the shouters out of the kitchen and into a seat. As we were the only clients at that time on a Saturday we had the drama to ourselves.
The shouter kept on saying that he didn’t have to put up with it, while the person who appeared to be in charge continued to quieten him down.
We never did find out what caused the verbal explosion as we signed and left to return to our room to collect our shopping list. As we left the hotel I glanced into the Cafe Rouge but it was now deserted. Such are the small mysteries of life.
Our shopping trip was fairly successful but on the way back to the hotel a notice came up on the dashboard telling me that I should refill with Ad-Blu which, I discovered from my eldest son, is an additive that cleans diesel exhausts. Should I wait until my next service, I asked him but he advised against it as it will run normally for a short while but will then go into limp home mode, which means that it won’t go above 30 mph. I resolved to add some at the earliest opportunity.
Back at the hotel we found our sons and grandson had arrived from Woking. They were off to The Valley to watch Charlton Athletic play that afternoon so after a drink together and lunch, they set off while Jackie and I decided to have a drive around our old haunts to see what changes had been made since our last visit. I was sad to see that both East Greenwich library and the municipal baths had been closed down. The library had played an enormous part in creating the person I am now, as I was an inveterate reader and had a library card from my 8th birthday onwards. We could never have afforded the quantity of books I got through and I loved everything from novels to biographies to history books. I adored Enid Blyton’s books, and Richmal Crompton’s Just William series became an addiction to many kids of my age at that period, as the BBC broadcast them in dramatised form.
The swimming pool was where I learnt to swim and generations of kids from the area learnt their water skills there as well. I felt outraged that the council was closing down these facilities that I felt were absolutely essential. But my outrage was misplaced as I discovered that the site of the former Greenwich and District Hospital was where the new library and swimming pool were now situated.
However, we had one more obligation and that was to visit a local art gallery where my cousin had arranged for a showing of his paintings along with those of a cousin of his. We duly turned up at the appropriate time for a happy reunion with him and his lady, Suzanne, who will be married in June.
We had to leave them all too soon as we needed to be back at the hotel to see our sons before they went their differing ways. Older Son was staying on with us, albeit in a different hotel, while Younger Son and Grandson took the train back to Woking where they were going to spend the night.
That evening we went out for dinner with Older Son who expressed a wish for an Indian meal, so we ended up in the same restaurant. We wouldn’t be seeing him for quite a while as we were driving back to Luxembourg the next day and he would be leaving on the Eurostar to Paris at around the same time. From Paris he was booked on the TGV to the Atlantic coast where he now lives. We’re planning to visit him and his wife at the beginning of April.
We took an early breakfast next morning and sat watching the rain. There was no excitement that time so we ate and left, checking out a few moments later.
As we packed the car we noticed that snowflakes were falling with the rain and by the time we were on the road there was more snow than rain. I pulled into the next petrol station and bought some Ad-Blu, which I poured into the receptacle for it as the snow turned into a regular blizzard. By the time we reached the M2, only about 15 minutes away, the snow was settling fast and building up on the motorway. I thanked the powers that be who passed a law saying that all cars in Luxembourg have to have “tyres appropriate for the weather”. Which meant, of course, snow tyres in the winter. They were a Godsend that morning.
Being Sunday there wasn’t enough traffic to keep the lanes clear, so i had to slow down despite having suitable tyres as many other drivers didn’t have the traction I had.
As we breasted the brow of the hill that leads down to the Medway Bridge we saw the sky ahead of us was much brighter and the snow was lessening.
A couple of miles further on, close to the Chatham exit the snow gradually stopped falling and we found ourselves on a wet road without a trace of snow. The rest of the drive to Dover was a lot less tense.
So we boarded the ferry and departed for Calais in fairly quick time. The crossing was rough, as there was a high wind and storms in the Channel. Luckily, the ferries are well stabilised so the passengers were mostly unaware of just how rough the sea was. It was a quick crossing, nevertheless, and before long we found ourselves off Cap Gris Nez shortly before midday and followed the coast towards Calais. Soon be on our way, we thought. We couldn’t have been more wrong. The ferry heaved to and we waited. The captain came over the public address system to inform us that the wind was so strong that tugs were having to be used to move the ferries in and out of their berths. We were third in line, he told us, so we would have to wait a short while and we would be tied up in the port. So we waited, and we waited, and we waited.
After an hour or so the captain came over the loudspeakers to tell us that one of the ferries had run aground and as a result the port of Calais was now closed until the ferry could be refloated. It seems that a special type of tug was needed which was currently in Dunkirk and would soon be on its way towards us. It would take at least two hours.
So we sat and waited while the ship bobbed about merrily. The tug arrived and began its job of refloating the ferry that had run aground which was now leaking and taking on water. This cheered me up immensely, as you may well imagine, having been the world’s most seasick diver in my misspent youth.
The captain addressed us again with the news that the special tug had arrived from Dunkirk and was about to begin its task of moving the grounded ferry. Meanwhile, he said, a meal would be served to all passengers in the cafeteria. We were in the club lounge but by now I wasn’t interested in a free meal - it was now dark and it would take at least four and a half hours to drive to Luxembourg. Jackie and I decided that we wouldn’t be disembarking until around 6 o’clock so we thought an overnight in Calais and then a drive to Luxembourg the next morning would be the wisest course. I had a look on the internet and then remembered an Ibis hotel we had once stayed in in the centre of Calais with a very good restaurant nearby. I found its phone number on the internet and gave them a call, but was told that they were expecting a large party and they couldn’t give us a definite answer until they knew how many people were due to arrive. I left them after promising to give them a call as soon as we knew we were on our way to our berth.
Finally, the captain spoke again and told us that we were on our way to our berth and we would be tied up and ready to disembark shortly.
I gave the hotel a call and was told that they could fit us in. We told them we would be arriving within about 30 minutes.
Next morning we were up bright and early as we wanted to make a few purchases and this was our last full day. Breakfast was enlivened by an argument of gigantic proportions going on in the kitchen. The Ibis itself doesn’t have a restaurant but there is a Café Rouge attached to the hotel with access from the lobby.
We listened in fascination as two voices were raised to a decibel level that would cause pain to any dogs who happened to be passing. Our breakfast was delivered to our table and I once again appreciated how kind a full English breakfast is to a diabetic’s BS levels. Just think of it, poached eggs, tomato, bacon and sausages accompanied by a large pot of tea. The only questionable item being the sausages, but even they don’t set the carb count to anywhere near levels that cause any worry. As we ate, a man hustled one of the shouters out of the kitchen and into a seat. As we were the only clients at that time on a Saturday we had the drama to ourselves.
The shouter kept on saying that he didn’t have to put up with it, while the person who appeared to be in charge continued to quieten him down.
We never did find out what caused the verbal explosion as we signed and left to return to our room to collect our shopping list. As we left the hotel I glanced into the Cafe Rouge but it was now deserted. Such are the small mysteries of life.
Our shopping trip was fairly successful but on the way back to the hotel a notice came up on the dashboard telling me that I should refill with Ad-Blu which, I discovered from my eldest son, is an additive that cleans diesel exhausts. Should I wait until my next service, I asked him but he advised against it as it will run normally for a short while but will then go into limp home mode, which means that it won’t go above 30 mph. I resolved to add some at the earliest opportunity.
Back at the hotel we found our sons and grandson had arrived from Woking. They were off to The Valley to watch Charlton Athletic play that afternoon so after a drink together and lunch, they set off while Jackie and I decided to have a drive around our old haunts to see what changes had been made since our last visit. I was sad to see that both East Greenwich library and the municipal baths had been closed down. The library had played an enormous part in creating the person I am now, as I was an inveterate reader and had a library card from my 8th birthday onwards. We could never have afforded the quantity of books I got through and I loved everything from novels to biographies to history books. I adored Enid Blyton’s books, and Richmal Crompton’s Just William series became an addiction to many kids of my age at that period, as the BBC broadcast them in dramatised form.
The swimming pool was where I learnt to swim and generations of kids from the area learnt their water skills there as well. I felt outraged that the council was closing down these facilities that I felt were absolutely essential. But my outrage was misplaced as I discovered that the site of the former Greenwich and District Hospital was where the new library and swimming pool were now situated.
However, we had one more obligation and that was to visit a local art gallery where my cousin had arranged for a showing of his paintings along with those of a cousin of his. We duly turned up at the appropriate time for a happy reunion with him and his lady, Suzanne, who will be married in June.
We had to leave them all too soon as we needed to be back at the hotel to see our sons before they went their differing ways. Older Son was staying on with us, albeit in a different hotel, while Younger Son and Grandson took the train back to Woking where they were going to spend the night.
That evening we went out for dinner with Older Son who expressed a wish for an Indian meal, so we ended up in the same restaurant. We wouldn’t be seeing him for quite a while as we were driving back to Luxembourg the next day and he would be leaving on the Eurostar to Paris at around the same time. From Paris he was booked on the TGV to the Atlantic coast where he now lives. We’re planning to visit him and his wife at the beginning of April.
We took an early breakfast next morning and sat watching the rain. There was no excitement that time so we ate and left, checking out a few moments later.
As we packed the car we noticed that snowflakes were falling with the rain and by the time we were on the road there was more snow than rain. I pulled into the next petrol station and bought some Ad-Blu, which I poured into the receptacle for it as the snow turned into a regular blizzard. By the time we reached the M2, only about 15 minutes away, the snow was settling fast and building up on the motorway. I thanked the powers that be who passed a law saying that all cars in Luxembourg have to have “tyres appropriate for the weather”. Which meant, of course, snow tyres in the winter. They were a Godsend that morning.
Being Sunday there wasn’t enough traffic to keep the lanes clear, so i had to slow down despite having suitable tyres as many other drivers didn’t have the traction I had.
As we breasted the brow of the hill that leads down to the Medway Bridge we saw the sky ahead of us was much brighter and the snow was lessening.
A couple of miles further on, close to the Chatham exit the snow gradually stopped falling and we found ourselves on a wet road without a trace of snow. The rest of the drive to Dover was a lot less tense.
So we boarded the ferry and departed for Calais in fairly quick time. The crossing was rough, as there was a high wind and storms in the Channel. Luckily, the ferries are well stabilised so the passengers were mostly unaware of just how rough the sea was. It was a quick crossing, nevertheless, and before long we found ourselves off Cap Gris Nez shortly before midday and followed the coast towards Calais. Soon be on our way, we thought. We couldn’t have been more wrong. The ferry heaved to and we waited. The captain came over the public address system to inform us that the wind was so strong that tugs were having to be used to move the ferries in and out of their berths. We were third in line, he told us, so we would have to wait a short while and we would be tied up in the port. So we waited, and we waited, and we waited.
After an hour or so the captain came over the loudspeakers to tell us that one of the ferries had run aground and as a result the port of Calais was now closed until the ferry could be refloated. It seems that a special type of tug was needed which was currently in Dunkirk and would soon be on its way towards us. It would take at least two hours.
So we sat and waited while the ship bobbed about merrily. The tug arrived and began its job of refloating the ferry that had run aground which was now leaking and taking on water. This cheered me up immensely, as you may well imagine, having been the world’s most seasick diver in my misspent youth.
The captain addressed us again with the news that the special tug had arrived from Dunkirk and was about to begin its task of moving the grounded ferry. Meanwhile, he said, a meal would be served to all passengers in the cafeteria. We were in the club lounge but by now I wasn’t interested in a free meal - it was now dark and it would take at least four and a half hours to drive to Luxembourg. Jackie and I decided that we wouldn’t be disembarking until around 6 o’clock so we thought an overnight in Calais and then a drive to Luxembourg the next morning would be the wisest course. I had a look on the internet and then remembered an Ibis hotel we had once stayed in in the centre of Calais with a very good restaurant nearby. I found its phone number on the internet and gave them a call, but was told that they were expecting a large party and they couldn’t give us a definite answer until they knew how many people were due to arrive. I left them after promising to give them a call as soon as we knew we were on our way to our berth.
Finally, the captain spoke again and told us that we were on our way to our berth and we would be tied up and ready to disembark shortly.
I gave the hotel a call and was told that they could fit us in. We told them we would be arriving within about 30 minutes.
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Thank you, Daisy, for the likes you have given my posts. Much appreciated.
Once we were berthed we disembarked quickly and were on our way to the hotel. We passed the restaurant where we had eaten previously but it was dark and obviously closed for the evening. Nevertheless, when we checked into the hotel we asked if there was a hotel nearby where we could get dinner. The young man on reception, who had been cheerful and professional in checking us in, recommended a restaurant nearby called Le Détroit, which sounded pretty good to us. It was also within easy walking distance on a dark and stormy night. He made a reservation for us and we took our bags up to our room, freshened up quickly and set off for the restaurant. The receptionist had given us a map on which he had marked the route to the restaurant, which was so good that we found the restaurant without problems.
Le Détroit (détroit in French means straits, as in the Straits of Dover) was one of those delightful family-run restaurants you find in France with a decor that is fresh and comfortable, a menu which is not too wide but covers most appetites at reasonable prices and with a warm welcome for all their customers.
There was only one other couple in the restaurant when we arrived and we were seated at the next table.
After a few moments ordering our pre-dinner drinks we discovered the couple at the next table were British and we fell into conversation with them. They, we discovered during the subsequent conversation, lived in Macon which we had visited just a couple of months previously. Their son in law ran a vineyard and we were soon engrossed in a discussion of wines and the Burgundy region in general.
We concentrated on our food when the meal arrived (it was extremely good) and continued our conversation once the coffee was served. Eventually, we paid our bill, bade farewell to our dinner companions and made our way back to the hotel.
The following morning it was raining hard as we packed our cases after breakfast and made preparations to depart. At which point Jackie looked out of the window and remarked that there was snow mixed in with the rain.
We hurriedly paid our bill and packed the car but by the time we were back on the road the sleet had turned to heavy snow, which the wind turned into a blizzard. By the time we turned onto the motorway the snow was settling thickly and I had to reduce speed for safety’s sake and to allow for any other cars, lacking good traction, sliding around in front of us.
It was a nightmarish drive with visibility greatly reduced by the thickly falling snow and slush thrown up by trucks and heavier vehicles.. We took the turnoff for Lille, heading due south, and breathed a sigh of relief that the traffic was less dense. I still had to keep my speed down even though our winter tyres were biting into the snow and slush and giving us good traction.
About thirty kilometres from Lille the snow began to lighten and within 15 minutes had stopped altogether. By the time we reached Lille the roads were clear and there was no trace of snow - we had driven out of the blizzard. The journey from then on was much less stressful and apart from a stop for something to eat and a coffee we rolled on with the cruise control set at the speed limit.
Once home, we carried our bags into the house and did a quick unpacking job. We had decided to go out to eat as there was a very good Chinese/Japanese restaurant not too far away and I didn’t feel up to cooking after the drive. Then, having dumped most of the contents of our cases into the washing machine I was just about to sit down and relax for a while when I looked out the window. It had been raining since just before we arrived home but now there were ominous snowflakes mixed in with the rain. As I watched, the snow became thicker and the rain reduced until eventually we had a full-blown blizzard raging outside. Jackie didn’t think we would be able to get to the restaurant as it was settling fast. This had been happening on virtually every day, even before we left for the UK and yet the temperature was always quite high. When the snow had started settling the day before in Greenwich, the temperature had been 4.5°C and here outside our house it was 5°C which meant that as soon as it stopped snowing it melted pretty quickly. It was just the short period between the snow stopping and the roads being clear that caused the problems.
The snow stopped at just before 6 p.m. Jackie was convinced that the roads would be too slippery for us to venture out, but I felt otherwise. And by 7 there had been enough traffic to leave clear tracks in the snow. It was also thawing fast. I hate to say I told you so, but I told her so and we were able to drive to the restaurant with no drama whatsoever, and by the time we headed home the thaw was well under way and we made it home without problems.
As I write, our grandson is undergoing regimental training at Bovington, learning to drive military vehicles from trucks to tanks. We’re proud of him and the commitment and determination he has shown in getting into the army and sticking it through basic training. That’s always the worst part of military career, and quite a few dropped out of his course either because they just couldn’t handle the military life or they couldn’t cut the mustard. So we’re hoping that he has a long and successful career in the British army.
Once we were berthed we disembarked quickly and were on our way to the hotel. We passed the restaurant where we had eaten previously but it was dark and obviously closed for the evening. Nevertheless, when we checked into the hotel we asked if there was a hotel nearby where we could get dinner. The young man on reception, who had been cheerful and professional in checking us in, recommended a restaurant nearby called Le Détroit, which sounded pretty good to us. It was also within easy walking distance on a dark and stormy night. He made a reservation for us and we took our bags up to our room, freshened up quickly and set off for the restaurant. The receptionist had given us a map on which he had marked the route to the restaurant, which was so good that we found the restaurant without problems.
Le Détroit (détroit in French means straits, as in the Straits of Dover) was one of those delightful family-run restaurants you find in France with a decor that is fresh and comfortable, a menu which is not too wide but covers most appetites at reasonable prices and with a warm welcome for all their customers.
There was only one other couple in the restaurant when we arrived and we were seated at the next table.
After a few moments ordering our pre-dinner drinks we discovered the couple at the next table were British and we fell into conversation with them. They, we discovered during the subsequent conversation, lived in Macon which we had visited just a couple of months previously. Their son in law ran a vineyard and we were soon engrossed in a discussion of wines and the Burgundy region in general.
We concentrated on our food when the meal arrived (it was extremely good) and continued our conversation once the coffee was served. Eventually, we paid our bill, bade farewell to our dinner companions and made our way back to the hotel.
The following morning it was raining hard as we packed our cases after breakfast and made preparations to depart. At which point Jackie looked out of the window and remarked that there was snow mixed in with the rain.
We hurriedly paid our bill and packed the car but by the time we were back on the road the sleet had turned to heavy snow, which the wind turned into a blizzard. By the time we turned onto the motorway the snow was settling thickly and I had to reduce speed for safety’s sake and to allow for any other cars, lacking good traction, sliding around in front of us.
It was a nightmarish drive with visibility greatly reduced by the thickly falling snow and slush thrown up by trucks and heavier vehicles.. We took the turnoff for Lille, heading due south, and breathed a sigh of relief that the traffic was less dense. I still had to keep my speed down even though our winter tyres were biting into the snow and slush and giving us good traction.
About thirty kilometres from Lille the snow began to lighten and within 15 minutes had stopped altogether. By the time we reached Lille the roads were clear and there was no trace of snow - we had driven out of the blizzard. The journey from then on was much less stressful and apart from a stop for something to eat and a coffee we rolled on with the cruise control set at the speed limit.
Once home, we carried our bags into the house and did a quick unpacking job. We had decided to go out to eat as there was a very good Chinese/Japanese restaurant not too far away and I didn’t feel up to cooking after the drive. Then, having dumped most of the contents of our cases into the washing machine I was just about to sit down and relax for a while when I looked out the window. It had been raining since just before we arrived home but now there were ominous snowflakes mixed in with the rain. As I watched, the snow became thicker and the rain reduced until eventually we had a full-blown blizzard raging outside. Jackie didn’t think we would be able to get to the restaurant as it was settling fast. This had been happening on virtually every day, even before we left for the UK and yet the temperature was always quite high. When the snow had started settling the day before in Greenwich, the temperature had been 4.5°C and here outside our house it was 5°C which meant that as soon as it stopped snowing it melted pretty quickly. It was just the short period between the snow stopping and the roads being clear that caused the problems.
The snow stopped at just before 6 p.m. Jackie was convinced that the roads would be too slippery for us to venture out, but I felt otherwise. And by 7 there had been enough traffic to leave clear tracks in the snow. It was also thawing fast. I hate to say I told you so, but I told her so and we were able to drive to the restaurant with no drama whatsoever, and by the time we headed home the thaw was well under way and we made it home without problems.
As I write, our grandson is undergoing regimental training at Bovington, learning to drive military vehicles from trucks to tanks. We’re proud of him and the commitment and determination he has shown in getting into the army and sticking it through basic training. That’s always the worst part of military career, and quite a few dropped out of his course either because they just couldn’t handle the military life or they couldn’t cut the mustard. So we’re hoping that he has a long and successful career in the British army.
After going to the Monaco Grand Prix in 1969 to write a story for a US Army magazine, I promised my wife that I would take her there for a holiday. Last December I finally kept that promise - 58 years later. I had reserved a room at the Fairmont Hotel for the Christmas period, a hotel famous for being on the hairpin bend of grand prix fame.
The drive from Luxembourg to Monaco being too long to do in one stretch I had booked an overnight at a town called Seyssuel in central France in a hotel where we had stayed previously. Then two days before our departure I received an email that our booking had been made for an overnight during their annual closure. That started a frantic internet search to find a hotel with a spare room for us the day before Christmas Eve.
We finally found an Ibis hotel south of Lyon that had a double room free so I booked it immediately. I next wrote a scathing review of the Seyssuel hotel on Trip Advisor, excoriating them for waiting until the last moment to tell us that they would be closed on the day of our arrival. The management wrote a reply wondering why I hadn’t contacted them by telephone instead of writing about it on the internet. The answer to that is clear, I would have thought. They were going to be closed so what’s the point of calling a hotel that’s closed?
No, I strongly suspect that they waited to see how many bookings they had before they called in staff over the Christmas period and paid them holiday rates. Not enough reservations? Just cancel and let the clients dangle in the breeze.
So we duly arrived at our hotel around 4 p.m. and checked in. We were situated on the left bank of the Rhone overlooking a bridge. At the other end of the bridge we could see a museum of Gallo-Roman history which looked as if it might be worth a visit but we wouldn’t have time.
The receptionist was very friendly and helpful. She also served as the bartender, so we felt that if we sat in the bar and ordered a couple of drinks, it would help to justify her presence and thus give her more job security. Well, that’s my excuse, anyway.
She gave us directions to several restaurants, one of which was attached to the museum. Jackie had unfortunately developed pain in her left knee after having been pain free since her right hip was replaced. I told her to go back to the room and put her leg up to try to recuperate a little. While she was doing that I would walk across the bridge to have a look at the restaurant and cast an eye over the menu.
The restaurant looked clean and well kept while the menu had a nice selection of meat, sefood and vegetables. I reported back to Jackie that it was the nearest so that dining there would reduce the walk for her. Come dinner time we ambled across the bridge and, the restaurant being fairly empty, were greeted and seated with a view of the bridge and the river in double quick time. After a swift read of the menu we made our selection and enjoyed half a dozen snails each, followed by grilled daurade, also known as sea bass. Half a carafe of house wine helped the food on its way and I ffinished off the meal with a selection of cheeses and a coffee.
We hit the mattress earlier than we would normally do so as we wanted to be up and on our way fairly early. Being Christmas Eve we thought the French autoroutes might be busy, and we’ve experienced them in the past on a public holiday - nightmarish is the best word to describe them on busy days.
Breakfast was excellent for a modest hotel, with fresh breads, cheeses, hams, eggs, bacon and sausages. So we were well fed as we hit the road shortly afterwards. Now this leg of the journey felt longer than the day before, though according to the GPS we had driven more than half the stretch on the previous day. I don’t know why it seemed like that as normally I enjoy driving, especially on the motorway and contrary to our expectations there was not a great deal of traffic. I think it might have had something to do with our sense of expectation - having driven more than half the distance the day before we felt that this would be a short stint on the road.
We broke the journey by stopping for fuel and a coffee and later for a light lunch and we arrived in Monaco around 2.30 p.m.
We checked in at the Fairmont and our car was valet parked for us - in fact I didn’t see it again until we were ready to leave 5 days later. Chatting to the receptionist about dinner that evening and on Christmas Day we discovered there were two main restaurants - one was European style called Safire, and a Japanese one was named Nobu. We walked down the central lobby to the entrance to the two restaurants where a young lady took reservations for both. Jackie’s idea was that we should try a Japanese style Christmas dinner for a real change, so we booked that and dinner for later that day in the European style restaurant. So that was the first two days taken care of.
We went up to our room which had a great view eastwards along the coast towards Italy and our bags were delivered a few minutes later.
We unpacked and went down to the bar for a reviving drink and relaxed for a while before exploring the hotel and its shops. Then it was back to the room for a read before getting ready for dinner.
In the restaurant we were seated at a table next to a floor to ceiling window with a view, now it had grown dark, of the sparkling lights along the coast to Italy and beyond. However, we had to concentrate for a while on the menu, choosing what we fancied for our Christmas Eve dinner. It was not an easy choice, but by putting our heads together we made our choices - Jackie decided on the Tandoori chicken while I went for a steak. Now I know that sounds very unadventurous on my part, but I hadn’t had a steak in a long time. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The meal was superb and we both enjoyed every morsel, as well as the bottle of red wine that we chose as accompaniment.
After dinner we sat watching the coastal lights and the boats that were moored a little way offshore - not cruise liners I hasten to add, but smaller, working boats that are occupied inside the harbour and in the small stretch of coast either side of it.
We had a digestif before making our way back to our room watched the view from our balcony for a short while, but not too long as it was fairly cold, and then fell into bed.
The drive from Luxembourg to Monaco being too long to do in one stretch I had booked an overnight at a town called Seyssuel in central France in a hotel where we had stayed previously. Then two days before our departure I received an email that our booking had been made for an overnight during their annual closure. That started a frantic internet search to find a hotel with a spare room for us the day before Christmas Eve.
We finally found an Ibis hotel south of Lyon that had a double room free so I booked it immediately. I next wrote a scathing review of the Seyssuel hotel on Trip Advisor, excoriating them for waiting until the last moment to tell us that they would be closed on the day of our arrival. The management wrote a reply wondering why I hadn’t contacted them by telephone instead of writing about it on the internet. The answer to that is clear, I would have thought. They were going to be closed so what’s the point of calling a hotel that’s closed?
No, I strongly suspect that they waited to see how many bookings they had before they called in staff over the Christmas period and paid them holiday rates. Not enough reservations? Just cancel and let the clients dangle in the breeze.
So we duly arrived at our hotel around 4 p.m. and checked in. We were situated on the left bank of the Rhone overlooking a bridge. At the other end of the bridge we could see a museum of Gallo-Roman history which looked as if it might be worth a visit but we wouldn’t have time.
The receptionist was very friendly and helpful. She also served as the bartender, so we felt that if we sat in the bar and ordered a couple of drinks, it would help to justify her presence and thus give her more job security. Well, that’s my excuse, anyway.
She gave us directions to several restaurants, one of which was attached to the museum. Jackie had unfortunately developed pain in her left knee after having been pain free since her right hip was replaced. I told her to go back to the room and put her leg up to try to recuperate a little. While she was doing that I would walk across the bridge to have a look at the restaurant and cast an eye over the menu.
The restaurant looked clean and well kept while the menu had a nice selection of meat, sefood and vegetables. I reported back to Jackie that it was the nearest so that dining there would reduce the walk for her. Come dinner time we ambled across the bridge and, the restaurant being fairly empty, were greeted and seated with a view of the bridge and the river in double quick time. After a swift read of the menu we made our selection and enjoyed half a dozen snails each, followed by grilled daurade, also known as sea bass. Half a carafe of house wine helped the food on its way and I ffinished off the meal with a selection of cheeses and a coffee.
We hit the mattress earlier than we would normally do so as we wanted to be up and on our way fairly early. Being Christmas Eve we thought the French autoroutes might be busy, and we’ve experienced them in the past on a public holiday - nightmarish is the best word to describe them on busy days.
Breakfast was excellent for a modest hotel, with fresh breads, cheeses, hams, eggs, bacon and sausages. So we were well fed as we hit the road shortly afterwards. Now this leg of the journey felt longer than the day before, though according to the GPS we had driven more than half the stretch on the previous day. I don’t know why it seemed like that as normally I enjoy driving, especially on the motorway and contrary to our expectations there was not a great deal of traffic. I think it might have had something to do with our sense of expectation - having driven more than half the distance the day before we felt that this would be a short stint on the road.
We broke the journey by stopping for fuel and a coffee and later for a light lunch and we arrived in Monaco around 2.30 p.m.
We checked in at the Fairmont and our car was valet parked for us - in fact I didn’t see it again until we were ready to leave 5 days later. Chatting to the receptionist about dinner that evening and on Christmas Day we discovered there were two main restaurants - one was European style called Safire, and a Japanese one was named Nobu. We walked down the central lobby to the entrance to the two restaurants where a young lady took reservations for both. Jackie’s idea was that we should try a Japanese style Christmas dinner for a real change, so we booked that and dinner for later that day in the European style restaurant. So that was the first two days taken care of.
We went up to our room which had a great view eastwards along the coast towards Italy and our bags were delivered a few minutes later.
We unpacked and went down to the bar for a reviving drink and relaxed for a while before exploring the hotel and its shops. Then it was back to the room for a read before getting ready for dinner.
In the restaurant we were seated at a table next to a floor to ceiling window with a view, now it had grown dark, of the sparkling lights along the coast to Italy and beyond. However, we had to concentrate for a while on the menu, choosing what we fancied for our Christmas Eve dinner. It was not an easy choice, but by putting our heads together we made our choices - Jackie decided on the Tandoori chicken while I went for a steak. Now I know that sounds very unadventurous on my part, but I hadn’t had a steak in a long time. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The meal was superb and we both enjoyed every morsel, as well as the bottle of red wine that we chose as accompaniment.
After dinner we sat watching the coastal lights and the boats that were moored a little way offshore - not cruise liners I hasten to add, but smaller, working boats that are occupied inside the harbour and in the small stretch of coast either side of it.
We had a digestif before making our way back to our room watched the view from our balcony for a short while, but not too long as it was fairly cold, and then fell into bed.
Keesha
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 1,261
- Type of diabetes
- Type 2
BillB, always wonderful to read about your adventures, so please continue with your good write ups. Readers like me can always learn from you regarding places to visit, hotels and restaurants to try out. You are so lucky to be living in Europe as every places you have been to is mostly within driving distance. Canada is so far away and I can only make a trip or two per year if I am lucky and can afford it. Canada, although a lovely country does not offer the kind of atmosphere, culture and heritage as Europe. That being said, I would not want to live in any country but Canada. 
Thank you once again, Keesha, for your kind thoughts. Having visited Canada only once, I can assure you that we found it spectacularly beautiful and having the friendliest and kindest people we have encountered in one country. We will be returning sometime as we left a little bit of our hearts there when we had to return home. After all, where else can you be sitting in a magnificent glass topped train carriage as you travel through the Rocky Mountains and then be thrilled by the sight of a grizzly bear ambling along through the snow beside a tumbling stream. That's what we saw at one point on the Rocky Mountaineer train. Unforgettable.
And now, back to Monaco.
Our first task the next morning was to find where breakfast was served. It wasn’t clear on the literature available so we asked at reception and were soon ensconced in the breakfast room on the roof. The views were astonishing and paying attention to our food was something of a challenge, but I overcame the challenge and polished off a good low carb meal - fried eggs, bacon and sausages. The egg station cooks your eggs whichever way you like them and my choice is always over easy. After that I tried kiwis which were nicely ripe, ordered a second pot of tea and relaxed. As we took in the views we discussed what we should do that day - the sun was shining, the temperature was moderately warm so we felt that some exercise wouldn’t be amiss, which meant a walk around town sounded like a pleasant option.
The hotel sits on top of the tunnel where F1 cars blast through during the grand prix, so after breakfast we went downstairs and I went to have a word with the gentleman who’s in charge of car parking and other services.
He remembered me from the previous day so we chatted for a while before I asked him the best way to get into town. He told me that at the end of the hotel forecourt was a set of steps leading down to the tunnel and if we walked through the tunnel we would find ourselves at the harbour.
We made our way to the end of the forecourt and lo and behold there were the promised steps. We stepped down them to find they led us to the very entrance of the tunnel. If the cameras didn’t follow the cars but stopped at the tunnel during TV coverage you would be able to see the steps clearly. As it is, you’d better swivel your eyeballs rapidly to catch a glimpse of them.
So we walked through the tunnel and found ourselves on the harbourside, which in the bright sunshine was pretty spectacular. We strolled around for a while, giving the multi-billionaires’ yachts the eye. Impressive isn’t the word to describe them. I felt like Tevye the milkman in Fiddler on the Roof. I was tempted to burst into “If I were a rich man” but the look in Jackie’s eye told me she wouldn’t appreciate my vocal talents, meagre as the are, echoing round Monaco harbour. Back in the ‘80s we bought a cabin cruiser, a 33 foot aft cabin Freeman, and what we paid for that wouldn’t have bought us an anchor on one of these behemoths (do you like that word? Just showing off!). At the side of the harbour was a line of yacht brokers so, out of curiosity, we went along pricing the boats on offer. I did a rough calculation and came to the conclusion that if we were to spend absolutely no money for the next fifty years, put both our pensions into a savings account, then sold our house and lived in a tent, we would be able to afford a small boat there. Of course, I would be approaching 131 by the time that came around but you can dream, can’t you?
At that point Jackie’s knee began to give her pain and she found walking to be really, really painful so, reluctant to return to the hotel so soon, we had a look around to discover that the buses that take visitors on a city tour ran on Christmas Day and there was one due in 15 minutes - pay on the bus.
We took a seat on a bench and enjoyed the views while basking in the sun’s warmth. It had done little more than rain In Luxembourg since October so the sunshine was most welcome. Soon enough an open top bus came along the harbour road and pulled up in front of us. A couple of people got off and we climbed aboard, paid the fare, were given a pair of earphones each and took seats on the upper deck.
Being driven around Monaco while you’re sitting on the top deck of an open bus is one of those experiences that I can highly recommend. I didn’t have to do any driving myself, we were taken directly to all the places of interest and given a running commentary on what we were seeing and the history behind it.
We paused in front of the royal palace, where Princess Grace once resided, and then just around the corner was the Monaco Oceanographic Institute, which I had spent a happy morning exploring back in 1969. We turned back from there towards the town, driving along the shopping streets, then along the start/finish straight (of the grand prix course), up the hill and into the Casino Square where it pulled over for a few minutes. Since it didn’t pass our hotel we got out here and found there was another set of steps leading down to the Fairmont Hotel, which was a great convenient shortcut. From the bottom of the steps to the hotel was just a matter of yards.
It was now late afternoon, time to relax for a while, freshen up and go down to dinner.
The Nobu restaurant, where we would have our first Japanese Christmas dinner ever was situated on the ground floor. It was decorated in a kind of fusion style, Japanese and European modernist. It was striking and yet welcoming simultaneously, and we felt at home when we were ushered to our table. We ordered our traditional aperitifs and began studying the menu. Which is where we screeched to a stop. We were familiar with Japanese cuisine as there are several excellent Japanese restaurants in Luxembourg and we learnt to appreciate the subtleties of the dishes we ordered, but weren’t at all sure which dish would match which accompaniment on this menu as this was a step away from the traditional and a giant leap into the modernist, with the addition of Mexican and South American spices to the Japanese, so we did what we usually do in these circumstances and that is throw ourselves on the mercy of the waiter.
He took in our dilemma straightaway and suggested that we take the set multi-course menu. He suggested a number of dishes and we discovered that the menu can be varied according to the diners’ tastes. His suggestions sounded pretty good to both of us so we accepted everything he put forward as they all sounded delicious. He went off to the kitchen and we settled back with our drinks.
Before long he arrived again with what the French call an “amuse bouche”, which can probably best be translated as something to tickle the palate - in other words small offerings, sometimes no more thana teaspoonful of pate or a vegetable concoction, and invariably delicious. As we finished our drinks the first course arrived, which turned out to be ultra thin slices of scallop with ginger. It was delicious and we sat there almost swooning with sheer pleasure. Every other course that arrived was just as delicious and I regret that I didn’t make a note of what each dish consistede of. Suffice to say, I can’t remember having eaten a meal so delicious yet so delicate and light. The cherry on the cake for a diabetic was that it was all incredibly low carb.
At the end of the meal we felt that we had been incredibly spoilt and what could we ever eat that would match this unforgettable evening.
We finished up with coffee and made our way reluctantly to bed.
And now, back to Monaco.
Our first task the next morning was to find where breakfast was served. It wasn’t clear on the literature available so we asked at reception and were soon ensconced in the breakfast room on the roof. The views were astonishing and paying attention to our food was something of a challenge, but I overcame the challenge and polished off a good low carb meal - fried eggs, bacon and sausages. The egg station cooks your eggs whichever way you like them and my choice is always over easy. After that I tried kiwis which were nicely ripe, ordered a second pot of tea and relaxed. As we took in the views we discussed what we should do that day - the sun was shining, the temperature was moderately warm so we felt that some exercise wouldn’t be amiss, which meant a walk around town sounded like a pleasant option.
The hotel sits on top of the tunnel where F1 cars blast through during the grand prix, so after breakfast we went downstairs and I went to have a word with the gentleman who’s in charge of car parking and other services.
He remembered me from the previous day so we chatted for a while before I asked him the best way to get into town. He told me that at the end of the hotel forecourt was a set of steps leading down to the tunnel and if we walked through the tunnel we would find ourselves at the harbour.
We made our way to the end of the forecourt and lo and behold there were the promised steps. We stepped down them to find they led us to the very entrance of the tunnel. If the cameras didn’t follow the cars but stopped at the tunnel during TV coverage you would be able to see the steps clearly. As it is, you’d better swivel your eyeballs rapidly to catch a glimpse of them.
So we walked through the tunnel and found ourselves on the harbourside, which in the bright sunshine was pretty spectacular. We strolled around for a while, giving the multi-billionaires’ yachts the eye. Impressive isn’t the word to describe them. I felt like Tevye the milkman in Fiddler on the Roof. I was tempted to burst into “If I were a rich man” but the look in Jackie’s eye told me she wouldn’t appreciate my vocal talents, meagre as the are, echoing round Monaco harbour. Back in the ‘80s we bought a cabin cruiser, a 33 foot aft cabin Freeman, and what we paid for that wouldn’t have bought us an anchor on one of these behemoths (do you like that word? Just showing off!). At the side of the harbour was a line of yacht brokers so, out of curiosity, we went along pricing the boats on offer. I did a rough calculation and came to the conclusion that if we were to spend absolutely no money for the next fifty years, put both our pensions into a savings account, then sold our house and lived in a tent, we would be able to afford a small boat there. Of course, I would be approaching 131 by the time that came around but you can dream, can’t you?
At that point Jackie’s knee began to give her pain and she found walking to be really, really painful so, reluctant to return to the hotel so soon, we had a look around to discover that the buses that take visitors on a city tour ran on Christmas Day and there was one due in 15 minutes - pay on the bus.
We took a seat on a bench and enjoyed the views while basking in the sun’s warmth. It had done little more than rain In Luxembourg since October so the sunshine was most welcome. Soon enough an open top bus came along the harbour road and pulled up in front of us. A couple of people got off and we climbed aboard, paid the fare, were given a pair of earphones each and took seats on the upper deck.
Being driven around Monaco while you’re sitting on the top deck of an open bus is one of those experiences that I can highly recommend. I didn’t have to do any driving myself, we were taken directly to all the places of interest and given a running commentary on what we were seeing and the history behind it.
We paused in front of the royal palace, where Princess Grace once resided, and then just around the corner was the Monaco Oceanographic Institute, which I had spent a happy morning exploring back in 1969. We turned back from there towards the town, driving along the shopping streets, then along the start/finish straight (of the grand prix course), up the hill and into the Casino Square where it pulled over for a few minutes. Since it didn’t pass our hotel we got out here and found there was another set of steps leading down to the Fairmont Hotel, which was a great convenient shortcut. From the bottom of the steps to the hotel was just a matter of yards.
It was now late afternoon, time to relax for a while, freshen up and go down to dinner.
The Nobu restaurant, where we would have our first Japanese Christmas dinner ever was situated on the ground floor. It was decorated in a kind of fusion style, Japanese and European modernist. It was striking and yet welcoming simultaneously, and we felt at home when we were ushered to our table. We ordered our traditional aperitifs and began studying the menu. Which is where we screeched to a stop. We were familiar with Japanese cuisine as there are several excellent Japanese restaurants in Luxembourg and we learnt to appreciate the subtleties of the dishes we ordered, but weren’t at all sure which dish would match which accompaniment on this menu as this was a step away from the traditional and a giant leap into the modernist, with the addition of Mexican and South American spices to the Japanese, so we did what we usually do in these circumstances and that is throw ourselves on the mercy of the waiter.
He took in our dilemma straightaway and suggested that we take the set multi-course menu. He suggested a number of dishes and we discovered that the menu can be varied according to the diners’ tastes. His suggestions sounded pretty good to both of us so we accepted everything he put forward as they all sounded delicious. He went off to the kitchen and we settled back with our drinks.
Before long he arrived again with what the French call an “amuse bouche”, which can probably best be translated as something to tickle the palate - in other words small offerings, sometimes no more thana teaspoonful of pate or a vegetable concoction, and invariably delicious. As we finished our drinks the first course arrived, which turned out to be ultra thin slices of scallop with ginger. It was delicious and we sat there almost swooning with sheer pleasure. Every other course that arrived was just as delicious and I regret that I didn’t make a note of what each dish consistede of. Suffice to say, I can’t remember having eaten a meal so delicious yet so delicate and light. The cherry on the cake for a diabetic was that it was all incredibly low carb.
At the end of the meal we felt that we had been incredibly spoilt and what could we ever eat that would match this unforgettable evening.
We finished up with coffee and made our way reluctantly to bed.
Thank you, Keesha and thanks Daisy. Your kind words are very much appreciated.
Rain! Rain! And more rain! That was the prospect that faced us when we awoke and took a look out the window on Boxing Day morning. This isn’t treated as a public holiday in France (or Monaco) so we had been planning on doing a bit of sightseeing, most of it on foot, where Jackie’s knee would allow. However, not being familiar with the city and not wishing to drive around a city we didn’t know in the pouring rain we decided to hold off for a while and see if the rain eased off at all.
Before we left the breakfast room, Jackie noticed a puddle on the floor not far from our table. She looked closer and a drop of water landed in it, apparently from the ceiling. She pointed it out to me and we started looking up at to see where it was coming from. There was an ornamental bar which acted as a support for the ceiling and we could see a small stream of water flowing along it. Just as we were going to point it out to the manager she walked past us, looked down and rushed off. Shortly afterwards a cleaner with a mop and bucket appeared to clean and dry the floor.
We looked around and noticed several more puddles. The roof clearly had a severe leakage problem. However, we returned to our room and decided that we’d wait to see if there would be a break in the weather. I sat by the window, alternately reading and gazing out to sea. There were two ships operating close in, doing some kind of dredging. They had been moored offshore when we arrived and had stayed in that position until Boxing Day morning. They were dredgers but didn’t have the usual rotating chain of buckets which scoop up the seabed, and seemed to be working in unison. As I studied them more I realized they had a large mechanism which a deck crane would lift over the port side. It would then be secured and begin its work of digging into the sea bed.
The bigger of the two ships turned so that it was stern on to us. A small flag at the stern came into view and I thought at first that it looked a lot like Luxembourg’s unofficial flag. Let me explain that statement. Luxembourg’s official flag is a tricolour with horizontal stripes of red, white and blue, very similar to the Netherlands’ flag, except that the blue is a different shade. There is also a second flag which has a longish history and you will see this flag flying everywhere in the Grand Duchy on holidays and “Jours de fetes”. This has blue and white horizontal stripes with a red lion rampant in the centre. It took me a long time to notice that the lion has two tails.
Jackie got up and came over to see what I was watching so intently. She looked at the larger ship and said straightaway that it was flying the unofficial Luxembourg flag. And at that moment a gust of wind lifted the flag and we could see its entirety. It was indeed the Luxembourg unofficial flag, and the ship was named the Francis Beaufort.
I grabbed my iPad and typed the name of the dredger into the Safari search engine and discovered that this ship is indeed registered in Luxembourg. I didn’t even know that there were any ships registered in Luxembourg, but there it was. I later learned that there are more than 240 ships registered in Luxembourg and that it is a serious and respectable registration and in no way can be considered a flag of convenience. High technical and financial standards are required.
It was still raining as hard as ever so we decided to go down for a coffee to give the maids time to clean our room. While we were down there we decided that it would be better to have dinner in the hotel that evening as it looked like the rain was in for the day.
Back in our newly tidied room I looked up the opening times for the Oceanographic Institute and to check that it was open today. I was indeed open so we decided that we’d spend the afternoon there.
Breakfast having been a substantial meal we didn’t feel the need for lunch so we went down to the lobby and had the concierge call us a taxi. (No, he didn’t say, “You’re a taxi). It was a fairly traffic free drive and we arrived in what seemed like a couple of minutes. We were dropped off at the entrance and saw that just as we had decided to come to the aquarium on a rainy day, so had most of the other visitors.
Luckily, we had purchased our tickets online before leaving the hotel so we didn’t have to stand in line.
There had, naturally enough, been considerable changes since I had last been there, almost 50 years ago. The aquarium has been enlarged and as we both love aquaria (another posh word) we wandered around happily. Although it had seemed that the entire world and his brother were outside trying to get in, it was fairly comfortable inside and there was very little crowding.
I have always been fascinated by the underwater world, which is what drove me to take up scuba diving in my younger days. The Monaco Oceanographic Institute has for many, many years been at the forefront of exploration and preservation, thanks to a predecessor of Prince Rainier who undertook voyages of discovery and brought back many specimens and a lot of navigational information in the 19th and 20th centuries.
We drifted around taking in as many of the tanks as time allowed as we intended to take in the museum as well before returning to the hotel. It’s devoted to preserving Prince Albert I’s specimens and instruments, as well as more modern, up to date material, results of the current research undertaken by the institute. The whole afternoon was fascinating and varied and very enjoyable.
The hotel concierge had advised us to walk a few yards from the aquarium to the bus stop, Oddly, the bus doesn’t drop you off at the institute so that’s why we took the taxi on the way there, but the bus on the way back. It dropped us off outside the hotel and we had only a short walk across the forecourt. The rain had stopped meanwhile, another bonus.
A short period spent taking a rest and either watching the dredgers out on the bay or reading came first before showering and changing in time for dinner. We had an even better table than the first visit and we sat watching the coast down to Italy as the lights sparkled and reflected back from the sea.
Next morning the rain had resumed and we learned that breakfast would not be served in that area but elsewhere in the hotel. It seemed that the leaks in the ceiling hadn’t all been found and sealed. Although all the equipment for breakfast had been moved to another room it was just as good as previously.
Since we didn’t fancy another morning sitting in our room we decided to drive to Menton, the next large town to the east, which I had driven through several times on my only previous visit to Monaco and had struck me as a very pleasant sort of place. As we climbed the hill out of Monaco the rain began to ease up and by the time we reached Menton it had almost stopped.
We found a car park near the coast and went for a walk. Somehow, the town didn’t seem as charming as it had appeared on my first drive through, but that was almost 50 years ago, After we wandered around for a while I thought the town had gone downhill. I remembered a small, charming resort on the French Riviera, with Bougainvillea growing in purple masses, with Oleander and palm trees. Now there was little more than cheap cafes with plastic chairs and tables, none of which looked very inviting. Finally, in search of a decent cup of coffee we ended up in McDonalds, which has reliably good coffee.
Unimpressed, we headed back in the direction of Monaco when we passed a road sign for the little town of La Turbie. I had eaten dinner there one evening on my last visit. Let’s drive up there, I suggested and Jackie, having no better suggestion, agreed. So we started following the signs to La Turbie.
Rain! Rain! And more rain! That was the prospect that faced us when we awoke and took a look out the window on Boxing Day morning. This isn’t treated as a public holiday in France (or Monaco) so we had been planning on doing a bit of sightseeing, most of it on foot, where Jackie’s knee would allow. However, not being familiar with the city and not wishing to drive around a city we didn’t know in the pouring rain we decided to hold off for a while and see if the rain eased off at all.
Before we left the breakfast room, Jackie noticed a puddle on the floor not far from our table. She looked closer and a drop of water landed in it, apparently from the ceiling. She pointed it out to me and we started looking up at to see where it was coming from. There was an ornamental bar which acted as a support for the ceiling and we could see a small stream of water flowing along it. Just as we were going to point it out to the manager she walked past us, looked down and rushed off. Shortly afterwards a cleaner with a mop and bucket appeared to clean and dry the floor.
We looked around and noticed several more puddles. The roof clearly had a severe leakage problem. However, we returned to our room and decided that we’d wait to see if there would be a break in the weather. I sat by the window, alternately reading and gazing out to sea. There were two ships operating close in, doing some kind of dredging. They had been moored offshore when we arrived and had stayed in that position until Boxing Day morning. They were dredgers but didn’t have the usual rotating chain of buckets which scoop up the seabed, and seemed to be working in unison. As I studied them more I realized they had a large mechanism which a deck crane would lift over the port side. It would then be secured and begin its work of digging into the sea bed.
The bigger of the two ships turned so that it was stern on to us. A small flag at the stern came into view and I thought at first that it looked a lot like Luxembourg’s unofficial flag. Let me explain that statement. Luxembourg’s official flag is a tricolour with horizontal stripes of red, white and blue, very similar to the Netherlands’ flag, except that the blue is a different shade. There is also a second flag which has a longish history and you will see this flag flying everywhere in the Grand Duchy on holidays and “Jours de fetes”. This has blue and white horizontal stripes with a red lion rampant in the centre. It took me a long time to notice that the lion has two tails.
Jackie got up and came over to see what I was watching so intently. She looked at the larger ship and said straightaway that it was flying the unofficial Luxembourg flag. And at that moment a gust of wind lifted the flag and we could see its entirety. It was indeed the Luxembourg unofficial flag, and the ship was named the Francis Beaufort.
I grabbed my iPad and typed the name of the dredger into the Safari search engine and discovered that this ship is indeed registered in Luxembourg. I didn’t even know that there were any ships registered in Luxembourg, but there it was. I later learned that there are more than 240 ships registered in Luxembourg and that it is a serious and respectable registration and in no way can be considered a flag of convenience. High technical and financial standards are required.
It was still raining as hard as ever so we decided to go down for a coffee to give the maids time to clean our room. While we were down there we decided that it would be better to have dinner in the hotel that evening as it looked like the rain was in for the day.
Back in our newly tidied room I looked up the opening times for the Oceanographic Institute and to check that it was open today. I was indeed open so we decided that we’d spend the afternoon there.
Breakfast having been a substantial meal we didn’t feel the need for lunch so we went down to the lobby and had the concierge call us a taxi. (No, he didn’t say, “You’re a taxi). It was a fairly traffic free drive and we arrived in what seemed like a couple of minutes. We were dropped off at the entrance and saw that just as we had decided to come to the aquarium on a rainy day, so had most of the other visitors.
Luckily, we had purchased our tickets online before leaving the hotel so we didn’t have to stand in line.
There had, naturally enough, been considerable changes since I had last been there, almost 50 years ago. The aquarium has been enlarged and as we both love aquaria (another posh word) we wandered around happily. Although it had seemed that the entire world and his brother were outside trying to get in, it was fairly comfortable inside and there was very little crowding.
I have always been fascinated by the underwater world, which is what drove me to take up scuba diving in my younger days. The Monaco Oceanographic Institute has for many, many years been at the forefront of exploration and preservation, thanks to a predecessor of Prince Rainier who undertook voyages of discovery and brought back many specimens and a lot of navigational information in the 19th and 20th centuries.
We drifted around taking in as many of the tanks as time allowed as we intended to take in the museum as well before returning to the hotel. It’s devoted to preserving Prince Albert I’s specimens and instruments, as well as more modern, up to date material, results of the current research undertaken by the institute. The whole afternoon was fascinating and varied and very enjoyable.
The hotel concierge had advised us to walk a few yards from the aquarium to the bus stop, Oddly, the bus doesn’t drop you off at the institute so that’s why we took the taxi on the way there, but the bus on the way back. It dropped us off outside the hotel and we had only a short walk across the forecourt. The rain had stopped meanwhile, another bonus.
A short period spent taking a rest and either watching the dredgers out on the bay or reading came first before showering and changing in time for dinner. We had an even better table than the first visit and we sat watching the coast down to Italy as the lights sparkled and reflected back from the sea.
Next morning the rain had resumed and we learned that breakfast would not be served in that area but elsewhere in the hotel. It seemed that the leaks in the ceiling hadn’t all been found and sealed. Although all the equipment for breakfast had been moved to another room it was just as good as previously.
Since we didn’t fancy another morning sitting in our room we decided to drive to Menton, the next large town to the east, which I had driven through several times on my only previous visit to Monaco and had struck me as a very pleasant sort of place. As we climbed the hill out of Monaco the rain began to ease up and by the time we reached Menton it had almost stopped.
We found a car park near the coast and went for a walk. Somehow, the town didn’t seem as charming as it had appeared on my first drive through, but that was almost 50 years ago, After we wandered around for a while I thought the town had gone downhill. I remembered a small, charming resort on the French Riviera, with Bougainvillea growing in purple masses, with Oleander and palm trees. Now there was little more than cheap cafes with plastic chairs and tables, none of which looked very inviting. Finally, in search of a decent cup of coffee we ended up in McDonalds, which has reliably good coffee.
Unimpressed, we headed back in the direction of Monaco when we passed a road sign for the little town of La Turbie. I had eaten dinner there one evening on my last visit. Let’s drive up there, I suggested and Jackie, having no better suggestion, agreed. So we started following the signs to La Turbie.
Arriving in the village, our first task was to look for a car park. We wanted it to be as central as possible to reduce the distance Jackie would have to walk so we drove around for a short while, getting an orientation while doing so. Then, finding a car park with an empty slot approximately in the centre, we set off for a walk around the streets.
There weren’t many people, but I think you can put that down to the biting cold that enveloped the hilltop that day. The last time here I had dinner with a bunch of friends, sitting outside on a small square. Close to us was a tank of trout and those of us who ordered grilled trout were invited to choose our fish. One of the friend’s daughter had great trouble picking out a fish to be killed. I did it for her. When it was served at the table she tucked in. So I was able to play the Good Samaritan.
Jackie and I wandered around for a while, discovering unlikely little buildings with historical significance. Some of them were closed because of the season - tourists were few and far between, except for two mildly crazy ones from Luxembourg.
When the cold began to get to us we returned to the car and drove back down the mountainside and then through Monaco to the hotel. We had reserved a table again at the Nobu Restaurant for dinner that evening, so we were able to return to our room, warm up, take it easy for a while, then get ready for dinner.
When we walked into the restaurant, the waiter who conducted us to our table said that it was good to see us return. We responded by telling him how impressed we’d been with our previous visit. We ordered our pre-dinner drinks and scanned the menu. Once again we were somewhat stumped. When our friendly waiter brought our drinks he could see that we were somewhat lost. He asked if we had any problems with choosing our meal and we did what we’d done previously - we threw ourselves onto his good nature. And he came up with a perfect solution. He suggested we order the set menu, to which we replied that we’d had that on Christmas Day, but he then went on to say that they would give us something completely different for each course, thus giving us a totally different meal.
To say that we were surprised at this willingness to depart from the confines of the menu, just for us, is an understatement. We thanked him profusely and accepted immediately. Well, we know a good deal when it’s offered to us, that’s for sure.
And what a good deal it turned out to be. If we thought our previous Nobu meal was superb, this one was astonishing. It was prepared in the same way with basic Japanese dishes lifted out of the traditional style with the addition of Mexican and South American spices.
Now, we have eaten hairy crab at a table set up in the middle of the street in Singapore (it was closed to traffic from 6 p.m. onwards) which had us almost moaning with pleasure. We had eaten the best tomato soup either of us had ever tasted in a small restaurant in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. I had eaten snake soup in Hong Kong, which had a unique, delicious flavour. We had also enjoyed mangrove crab on Wasimi Island in Kenya and just kept eating and eating. Thinking back to outstanding meals we had enjoyed during our travels, the Nobu in Monaco had produced dishes that were totally unexpected and yet subtly beguiling. If a chef could produce food that’s best described as enchanting, that was what we enjoyed. I left a particularly hefty tip. Such culinary artistry deserves to be rewarded.
And so our last dinner in Monaco was one that will live in our memories. Will we ever again come across such imagination in the creation of food? Who knows? But we live in hope.
We were down for breakfast fairly early, finding the meal set up in a different room. We weren’t particularly hungry after the meal of the night before, but we were beginning our drive back to Luxembourg so we ate enough to keep us going.
After breakfast it was back to the room to drop the last couple of items into our cases, then to reception pay our bill, and ask the outside concierge to bring our car. Soon we were on our way, relying on the GPS to get us out of the city and onto the motorway. Traffic was light so progress was good and we were pulling up outside our hotel in Villefranche-sur-Saone, where we planned to break our journey, ahead of schedule. Once again it was an Accor hotel and one of the reasons that we chose it was that it had a restaurant. We didn’t fancy going out to find a restaurant after 6 hours of Autoroute driving, and it had underground parking for guests.
Dinner was good and excellent value. We spent a quiet night, sleeping blissfully and next morning resumed our drive home.
We had broken the back of the journey the day before so we were expecting to get home around 2 or 3 in the afternoon, depending on traffic conditions once we were in Lorraine. And we pulled up outside our house at just after 2 p.m. We carried our bags inside, unpacked the items destined for the washing machine and made a pot of tea.
Just as I sat down I glanced out of the window and saw that it was raining. And as I watched I noticed the occasional snowflake mixed in with the rain. The sleet quickly turned to a full blown blizzard, sending me hurtling outside to put the car in the garage. We were heading out to our local Italian restaurant that evening and I didn’t fancy doing a snow clearing job on the car before we left.
So it continued to snow heavily for several hours, even though the temperature was over 3°C. The snow was settling before the lowest layer had time to melt. It stopped just before we left and the road quickly became slushy. The salters came round and within twenty minutes or so ahead of our departure the roads were basically clear.
At the restaurant not many customers had turned up, fearing the roads would be tricky, no doubt, but it meant that we enjoyed our meal in quiet solitude.
When we got up the next morning most of the snow had gone. but at least it hadn’t struck while we were on the French autoroute. A fitting end to our Christmas, I felt.
There weren’t many people, but I think you can put that down to the biting cold that enveloped the hilltop that day. The last time here I had dinner with a bunch of friends, sitting outside on a small square. Close to us was a tank of trout and those of us who ordered grilled trout were invited to choose our fish. One of the friend’s daughter had great trouble picking out a fish to be killed. I did it for her. When it was served at the table she tucked in. So I was able to play the Good Samaritan.
Jackie and I wandered around for a while, discovering unlikely little buildings with historical significance. Some of them were closed because of the season - tourists were few and far between, except for two mildly crazy ones from Luxembourg.
When the cold began to get to us we returned to the car and drove back down the mountainside and then through Monaco to the hotel. We had reserved a table again at the Nobu Restaurant for dinner that evening, so we were able to return to our room, warm up, take it easy for a while, then get ready for dinner.
When we walked into the restaurant, the waiter who conducted us to our table said that it was good to see us return. We responded by telling him how impressed we’d been with our previous visit. We ordered our pre-dinner drinks and scanned the menu. Once again we were somewhat stumped. When our friendly waiter brought our drinks he could see that we were somewhat lost. He asked if we had any problems with choosing our meal and we did what we’d done previously - we threw ourselves onto his good nature. And he came up with a perfect solution. He suggested we order the set menu, to which we replied that we’d had that on Christmas Day, but he then went on to say that they would give us something completely different for each course, thus giving us a totally different meal.
To say that we were surprised at this willingness to depart from the confines of the menu, just for us, is an understatement. We thanked him profusely and accepted immediately. Well, we know a good deal when it’s offered to us, that’s for sure.
And what a good deal it turned out to be. If we thought our previous Nobu meal was superb, this one was astonishing. It was prepared in the same way with basic Japanese dishes lifted out of the traditional style with the addition of Mexican and South American spices.
Now, we have eaten hairy crab at a table set up in the middle of the street in Singapore (it was closed to traffic from 6 p.m. onwards) which had us almost moaning with pleasure. We had eaten the best tomato soup either of us had ever tasted in a small restaurant in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. I had eaten snake soup in Hong Kong, which had a unique, delicious flavour. We had also enjoyed mangrove crab on Wasimi Island in Kenya and just kept eating and eating. Thinking back to outstanding meals we had enjoyed during our travels, the Nobu in Monaco had produced dishes that were totally unexpected and yet subtly beguiling. If a chef could produce food that’s best described as enchanting, that was what we enjoyed. I left a particularly hefty tip. Such culinary artistry deserves to be rewarded.
And so our last dinner in Monaco was one that will live in our memories. Will we ever again come across such imagination in the creation of food? Who knows? But we live in hope.
We were down for breakfast fairly early, finding the meal set up in a different room. We weren’t particularly hungry after the meal of the night before, but we were beginning our drive back to Luxembourg so we ate enough to keep us going.
After breakfast it was back to the room to drop the last couple of items into our cases, then to reception pay our bill, and ask the outside concierge to bring our car. Soon we were on our way, relying on the GPS to get us out of the city and onto the motorway. Traffic was light so progress was good and we were pulling up outside our hotel in Villefranche-sur-Saone, where we planned to break our journey, ahead of schedule. Once again it was an Accor hotel and one of the reasons that we chose it was that it had a restaurant. We didn’t fancy going out to find a restaurant after 6 hours of Autoroute driving, and it had underground parking for guests.
Dinner was good and excellent value. We spent a quiet night, sleeping blissfully and next morning resumed our drive home.
We had broken the back of the journey the day before so we were expecting to get home around 2 or 3 in the afternoon, depending on traffic conditions once we were in Lorraine. And we pulled up outside our house at just after 2 p.m. We carried our bags inside, unpacked the items destined for the washing machine and made a pot of tea.
Just as I sat down I glanced out of the window and saw that it was raining. And as I watched I noticed the occasional snowflake mixed in with the rain. The sleet quickly turned to a full blown blizzard, sending me hurtling outside to put the car in the garage. We were heading out to our local Italian restaurant that evening and I didn’t fancy doing a snow clearing job on the car before we left.
So it continued to snow heavily for several hours, even though the temperature was over 3°C. The snow was settling before the lowest layer had time to melt. It stopped just before we left and the road quickly became slushy. The salters came round and within twenty minutes or so ahead of our departure the roads were basically clear.
At the restaurant not many customers had turned up, fearing the roads would be tricky, no doubt, but it meant that we enjoyed our meal in quiet solitude.
When we got up the next morning most of the snow had gone. but at least it hadn’t struck while we were on the French autoroute. A fitting end to our Christmas, I felt.
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Well, this was something I hadn’t seen coming. Before Christmas I had my regular 6-monthly dental checkup appointment. One of the teeth in my upper left jaw was coming loose. My dentist had fastened it in place a couple of checkups ago, but it was now working loose again. He had a look at it, gave me an X-ray and then told me the bad news. I was losing bone and as a consequence my gums were shrinking. He put the treatment possibilities to me - I could have dentures, or I could have implants. I’ve always had a horror of dentures and all my life vowed I would never have them. I said that implants seemed the only viable option and he told me about a specialist who came to his surgery once a week to work on patients for him. I said that I’d like an appointment with him and it was duly arranged. He also gave me a prescription for a blood test as he suspected that my Vitamin D3 levels were low. When the results came back I was shocked. I had a severe Vitamin D3 deficiency. Whereas normal is 100, my level was at 20. He put me on a course of Vitamin D3 medication.
Once I had seen him and had another X-ray, I asked him for an estimate of the treatment. My health insurance scheme requires an estimate of the costs before it will agree to treatment over a certain cost threshold. When the estimate arrived I almost fell over backwards. This was in arm and leg territory! I filled in the necessary form, attached the estimate, sent it off and waited.
A week or so later I received the letter informing me that they would pay €8000, the rest was up to me to pay. This was going to make a serious hole in our savings, but Jackie agreed with me that the alernative was not at all attractive.
So I called and made an appointment to begin the treatment. Now one of the benefits of paying most of the bill is that you can fix your appointments to suit yourself, so I settled on a date in February which didn’t clash with anything else - we were planning on visiting our son and daughter-in-law in their new home in France at the beginning of April and then we had a river cruise booked on the Rhine and Danube in May. Fortunately, this was all paid for well in advance.
I didn’t for one moment think a session in the dentist’s chair could last for 5 hours, but this one did. First there was the chat about the treatment and what I could expect, then came the anaesthetic, then the removal of my upper teeth. I didn’t at first realise that they were all going to go but they would all begin to loosen sooner or later so we both felt it would better to do the lot rather than one every year or so.
So I sat back in the chair while the anaesthetic took effect, and he then began to remove my teeth. Once they were out of the way he began to screw the implants into my upper jawbone - 8 in total.
The next stage was to close everything up with sutures. And then the final stage, and never was I happier to hear a dentist say it, a temporary plate had been prepared in advance and was put into place. And so, 5 hours after I sat down in the chair I stood up, rather unsteadily, I admit, thanked the two nurses and the dentist and drove home.
One strange thing that I couldn’t believe I had done. I fell asleep while he was working on me. Usually when I’m in the chair I close my eyes because the overhead surgical lamp hurts them. And I must have fallen asleep at one point as I woke myself up by snoring. I’m not usually a snorer, but then at night I don’t normally sleep on my back with my mouth wide open. The dentist was highly amused and made a joke of it.
Now I am waiting for the bone to grow around the implants before we can add the teeth. In the worst cases it can take up to 8 months so to help the process along I have started eating more foods rich in Vitamin D. Luckily, they are all foods that are good for anyone on a low carb diet - tuna, salmon, sardines. Herring and mackerel are also on the list, but I draw the line at those two; just can’t stand them.
So we are now saving hard to restore our savings to their former glory, which means that any long haul journeys are out of the question for the rest of this year. We’ll just have to make do with a day or three driving to France or Germany in the meantime.
Once I had seen him and had another X-ray, I asked him for an estimate of the treatment. My health insurance scheme requires an estimate of the costs before it will agree to treatment over a certain cost threshold. When the estimate arrived I almost fell over backwards. This was in arm and leg territory! I filled in the necessary form, attached the estimate, sent it off and waited.
A week or so later I received the letter informing me that they would pay €8000, the rest was up to me to pay. This was going to make a serious hole in our savings, but Jackie agreed with me that the alernative was not at all attractive.
So I called and made an appointment to begin the treatment. Now one of the benefits of paying most of the bill is that you can fix your appointments to suit yourself, so I settled on a date in February which didn’t clash with anything else - we were planning on visiting our son and daughter-in-law in their new home in France at the beginning of April and then we had a river cruise booked on the Rhine and Danube in May. Fortunately, this was all paid for well in advance.
I didn’t for one moment think a session in the dentist’s chair could last for 5 hours, but this one did. First there was the chat about the treatment and what I could expect, then came the anaesthetic, then the removal of my upper teeth. I didn’t at first realise that they were all going to go but they would all begin to loosen sooner or later so we both felt it would better to do the lot rather than one every year or so.
So I sat back in the chair while the anaesthetic took effect, and he then began to remove my teeth. Once they were out of the way he began to screw the implants into my upper jawbone - 8 in total.
The next stage was to close everything up with sutures. And then the final stage, and never was I happier to hear a dentist say it, a temporary plate had been prepared in advance and was put into place. And so, 5 hours after I sat down in the chair I stood up, rather unsteadily, I admit, thanked the two nurses and the dentist and drove home.
One strange thing that I couldn’t believe I had done. I fell asleep while he was working on me. Usually when I’m in the chair I close my eyes because the overhead surgical lamp hurts them. And I must have fallen asleep at one point as I woke myself up by snoring. I’m not usually a snorer, but then at night I don’t normally sleep on my back with my mouth wide open. The dentist was highly amused and made a joke of it.
Now I am waiting for the bone to grow around the implants before we can add the teeth. In the worst cases it can take up to 8 months so to help the process along I have started eating more foods rich in Vitamin D. Luckily, they are all foods that are good for anyone on a low carb diet - tuna, salmon, sardines. Herring and mackerel are also on the list, but I draw the line at those two; just can’t stand them.
So we are now saving hard to restore our savings to their former glory, which means that any long haul journeys are out of the question for the rest of this year. We’ll just have to make do with a day or three driving to France or Germany in the meantime.
And so the time to visit our son and daughter-in-law arrived. They had sold their houses (his in Luxembourg, hers in France) and moved to an island on the west coast of France. They had set up an enterprise to buy 2 houses and 2 apartments to begin with, renovate them and, living in one of the houses themselves, rent out the other house and one of the apartments as holiday rentals. The remaining apartment they would rent out on a long term let.
They have been immensely busy, seeking and buying the right properties, setting up the company with the French authorities, registering themselves as self-employed, and then renovating and furnishing the properties to the standard they want. They intend to make their company known for the quality of their properties. On top of all this they had to make sure that their properties were entered on the appropriate rental websites, AirBnB, the island’s own website for vacationers, and a number of others.
However, the time arrived when they could take a breather and invited us to spend a couple of weeks with them. Without hesitating we said we’d love to, but we wanted to avoid the Easter holidays as trains, roads and restaurants are filled to the brim for the weeks either side of Easter.
Having arranged a period convenient to all of us, Jackie and I headed for the main station in Luxembourg City to sort out times of the TGV that would suit us best. We knew we would have to take one TGV to Paris and then change stations from Gare de l’Est to Gare de Montparnasse to catch the TGV to La Rochelle.
Both journeys would involve a lengthy stopover in Paris as well as a change of stations. The stopver on the return journey would be a couple of hours longer than on the outward journey, but with the transfer to a different station and taking lunch somewhere the stopover would be less boring.
And then the blow struck - after we had bought our tickets. The French railwaymen would be going on strike. Not just a continuous strike, but two or three days at a time over the coming months. We were on the verge of cancelling our tickets, but decided to hang on until a little closer to our departure.
And this proved to be a fortunate decision. A list of dates when the strikes were scheduled for the week of our departure was published and our departure day was strike free. We decided to go ahead and if there was a strike for the day of our return we would just have to reschedule. As it turned out, there was no strike scheduled for the day of our return either.
The taxi subsequently arrived at our doorstep on departure day and deposited us at Luxembourg’s main station. One of the great things about travelling by train in Europe is that most countries give senior citizens an attractive discount and our trip was no exception. We had applied for, and received, a seniors’ discount card which gave us first class tickets for a price lower than a standard seat in second class. It’s always worth paying extra for first class and when the cost is less you’d be mad not to take it.
When we arrived at the Gare de l’Est we found the opposite. The taxis were charging a ridiculous price to take us to the Gare de Montparnasse, “because of the strike” we were assured by the drivers. The first one quoted €90, immediately rejected by us. We managed to talk the second one down to €75 and that was the best we could get. It was either take it or leave it. So we took it. Reluctantly. (On the return journey, no strike, no opportunity to gouge their passengers, the meter showed €15.)
Once at the Gare de Montparnasse we sought out the left luggage office and deposited our bags and cameras. Thus able to walk without hindrance we sought out a cashpoint machine as our walking about money had been reduced by €75. Safely freed up we did a recce of the station’s lunch possibilities and settled on a small place that served various types of pasta, including salads. Although pasta is not something I eat very often the alternatives were even higher in carbs so we settled on a small portion and a salad.
After lunch we still had several hours to kill so we took a stroll outside the station as long as Jackie’s foot problem allowed, and then spent the rest of the time inside after finding a couple of vacant seats.
By the time the train departure was approaching we had reclaimed our luggage and waited for our train’s platform to be announced. That didn’t take too long and soon enough we were ensconced in our seats with our bags in the bins near the entrance.
Once the train had left the station we were able to log on to the free wifi and have a look at our emails and Facebook accounts.
The TGV really does live up to its title and we were soon zooming along at 216 kph, according to the screens situated along the carriage. There were only a couple of stops and within hours we were slowing down for La Rochelle station where our son was waiting on the platform for us.
It was so good to see him again after what we calculated was the longest separation we had ever had away from him.
We loaded the bags into his car and were soon barrelling out of town and towards the island where our eldest now lives. He brought us up to date during the drive on the progress he and his wife had made on the purchasing and renovating of the four properties they were going to use as the foundation of their newly established holiday rental business.
Once we had reached their home we were greeted by our daughter-in-law and by their wildly enthusiastic Continental Bulldog, who is almost fully grown but is still less than a year old and displays a lot of puppyish behaviour.
We brought each other up to date on our lives while enjoying a drink after unpacking while d-i-l finished off preparing dinner. After eating we relaxed for a while but fatigue crept up on us and Jackie and I stumbled off to bed before we could fall asleep in the living room.
They have been immensely busy, seeking and buying the right properties, setting up the company with the French authorities, registering themselves as self-employed, and then renovating and furnishing the properties to the standard they want. They intend to make their company known for the quality of their properties. On top of all this they had to make sure that their properties were entered on the appropriate rental websites, AirBnB, the island’s own website for vacationers, and a number of others.
However, the time arrived when they could take a breather and invited us to spend a couple of weeks with them. Without hesitating we said we’d love to, but we wanted to avoid the Easter holidays as trains, roads and restaurants are filled to the brim for the weeks either side of Easter.
Having arranged a period convenient to all of us, Jackie and I headed for the main station in Luxembourg City to sort out times of the TGV that would suit us best. We knew we would have to take one TGV to Paris and then change stations from Gare de l’Est to Gare de Montparnasse to catch the TGV to La Rochelle.
Both journeys would involve a lengthy stopover in Paris as well as a change of stations. The stopver on the return journey would be a couple of hours longer than on the outward journey, but with the transfer to a different station and taking lunch somewhere the stopover would be less boring.
And then the blow struck - after we had bought our tickets. The French railwaymen would be going on strike. Not just a continuous strike, but two or three days at a time over the coming months. We were on the verge of cancelling our tickets, but decided to hang on until a little closer to our departure.
And this proved to be a fortunate decision. A list of dates when the strikes were scheduled for the week of our departure was published and our departure day was strike free. We decided to go ahead and if there was a strike for the day of our return we would just have to reschedule. As it turned out, there was no strike scheduled for the day of our return either.
The taxi subsequently arrived at our doorstep on departure day and deposited us at Luxembourg’s main station. One of the great things about travelling by train in Europe is that most countries give senior citizens an attractive discount and our trip was no exception. We had applied for, and received, a seniors’ discount card which gave us first class tickets for a price lower than a standard seat in second class. It’s always worth paying extra for first class and when the cost is less you’d be mad not to take it.
When we arrived at the Gare de l’Est we found the opposite. The taxis were charging a ridiculous price to take us to the Gare de Montparnasse, “because of the strike” we were assured by the drivers. The first one quoted €90, immediately rejected by us. We managed to talk the second one down to €75 and that was the best we could get. It was either take it or leave it. So we took it. Reluctantly. (On the return journey, no strike, no opportunity to gouge their passengers, the meter showed €15.)
Once at the Gare de Montparnasse we sought out the left luggage office and deposited our bags and cameras. Thus able to walk without hindrance we sought out a cashpoint machine as our walking about money had been reduced by €75. Safely freed up we did a recce of the station’s lunch possibilities and settled on a small place that served various types of pasta, including salads. Although pasta is not something I eat very often the alternatives were even higher in carbs so we settled on a small portion and a salad.
After lunch we still had several hours to kill so we took a stroll outside the station as long as Jackie’s foot problem allowed, and then spent the rest of the time inside after finding a couple of vacant seats.
By the time the train departure was approaching we had reclaimed our luggage and waited for our train’s platform to be announced. That didn’t take too long and soon enough we were ensconced in our seats with our bags in the bins near the entrance.
Once the train had left the station we were able to log on to the free wifi and have a look at our emails and Facebook accounts.
The TGV really does live up to its title and we were soon zooming along at 216 kph, according to the screens situated along the carriage. There were only a couple of stops and within hours we were slowing down for La Rochelle station where our son was waiting on the platform for us.
It was so good to see him again after what we calculated was the longest separation we had ever had away from him.
We loaded the bags into his car and were soon barrelling out of town and towards the island where our eldest now lives. He brought us up to date during the drive on the progress he and his wife had made on the purchasing and renovating of the four properties they were going to use as the foundation of their newly established holiday rental business.
Once we had reached their home we were greeted by our daughter-in-law and by their wildly enthusiastic Continental Bulldog, who is almost fully grown but is still less than a year old and displays a lot of puppyish behaviour.
We brought each other up to date on our lives while enjoying a drink after unpacking while d-i-l finished off preparing dinner. After eating we relaxed for a while but fatigue crept up on us and Jackie and I stumbled off to bed before we could fall asleep in the living room.
jay hay-char
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 3,683
- Type of diabetes
- Type 2
- Treatment type
- Diet only
Is your son's place on the Isle de Ré? We've spent some time in that part of the world and very much enjoyed it.
Hi there, Jay. No it's not the Ile de Ré, it's the Ile d'Oléron just to the south. And I agree with you that it's a really nice area. We loved La Rochelle where we spent a day with our son, walking around the harbour and the small streets of the town.
The weather next day was warm and sunny and after a breakfast of eggs followed by croissants we were taken out for an informal tour of the island. It’s pretty flat so it’s not as picturesque as, say, Cornwall or Devon, but the beaches are superb and the weather is in general warmer than in Britain. However, the flatness of a great deal of the countryside helps to ensure the island’s position as the most important producer of oysters and shellfish in France. There are also fishing fleets that bring back sea bass, St Peter fish, haddock, and every other kind of edible fish inhabiting the temperate Atlantic waters.
The flatness means that there is a lot of marshland, which the oyster growers have craftily utilised to produce the best tasting oysters in the country. By digging out shallow areas, called “claires” because, I think, the water is clarified somewhat, the last stage of the oysters’ lifecycle is spent in these man-made lagoons where the water is a mix of sea water and fresh water and the molluscs spend up to 3 months here, growing fat and developing a greenish tinge from, strangely enough, a microscopic blue seaweed. You may have seen oysters on sale called “fines de claires”, which are regarded as the best of the best, having spent the maximum time in the claires.
We spent the rest of the two weeks hoovering up the island’s oysters and relishing the ocean tinged flavour of each one. I’m surprised that we’re not known as the oyster killers after that, but there may be people who can get through more than I can.
The prices of the local seafood are so much lower here than in the rest of France or indeed in neighbouring countries that one can be forgiven this self-indulgence.
That evening we were driven out to a restaurant where our son and d-i-l have had good meals in the past and whose card they have placed in their rental properties. This was a disappointment, to put it mildly. The St Peter fish Jackie and I had chosen had run out so we were offered sea bass instead. When it was served it was not cooked all the way through so the flesh clung stubbornly to the bones. The service was not up to much either, so the restaurant’s card was removed from their properties the next day. They didn’t want to recommend a restaurant to their own customers when the quality of the food varied so wildly.
The next day we went out to explore another area which has as its central attraction a covered market. As I had volunteered to make boeuf bourguignon I went around the market selecting carrots, celery, potatoes and mushrooms. Jackie and I were amazed at the prices we paid. For carrots, celery and mushrooms we paid less than €3 and just half that for the potatoes. I had a wander round looking at the butcher’s stalls searching for bacon. When I mentioned what I needed the young lady at one stall held up two (small) sides of bacon and asked me which one I fancied. I pointed to the leanest one and she then asked how thick I would like it. I said around 3 milimetres and told her I would like around 5 slices. With that purchase I was finished with my shopping and we spent a while wandering around to see what else was on sale.
When we reached home I set off for our son’s local butcher, only a couple of hundred metres away. I came back with some good chunks of beef which I first had to trim and then settled into a dish with a couple of sticks of celery, halved, and a couple of carrots, also halved. I crushed a couple of cloves of garlic and quartered a good sized onon, finally adding three bay leaves. I then covered it all with a bottle of good red wine, and after sealing the top of the dish with clingfilm I set it in the fridge to marinate overnight.
The next morning we went off to have a look at the rental properties our son and d-i-l had purchased. They had carried out some attractive renovations and Jackie and I both agreed that had we rented one of them for a holiday we would have been satisfied with the accommodation and the price we were being charged. (And when we spoke to them just a couple of days ago we learned that they are virtually fully booked for July and August, something they didn’t think would happen in their first year.)
Our morning the next day was spent with our son driving us around to show us a couple of the local sights. After returning home we had a quick lunch and I then set the boeuf bourgignon to simmering for 5 hours. I stayed around for the afternoon, giving our meal the occasional stir and checking the seasoning.
When we finally sat down to dinner just after 7 I impressed my family once again (this wasn’t the first time I’d prepared this particular dish for them).
After that we fell into a kind of irregular routine, one of us cooking the evening meal one day and we all went out to one of the local restaurants our family had discovered the next. And it was so rewarding - each restaurant came up with something special. From the first disappointing restaurant our meals improved each time.
Another of our outings was to La Rochelle with our son, while his wife stayed home and did the washing (not ours, I hasten to add, but for their rental properties). That was a pleasant day, drifting around the harbour, exploring the old town with its narrow streets and variety of shops. I bought a bottle of Ile de Ré cognac (this area, I discovered, is in the Cognac region). Our son had reserved a table in a restaurant for lunch which turned out to be a pleasant interlude in our sightseeing day.
The restaurant was situated on a narrow street in the old town, picturesque and thriving. We had an enjoyable meal and then wandered around the streets for a while.
The flatness means that there is a lot of marshland, which the oyster growers have craftily utilised to produce the best tasting oysters in the country. By digging out shallow areas, called “claires” because, I think, the water is clarified somewhat, the last stage of the oysters’ lifecycle is spent in these man-made lagoons where the water is a mix of sea water and fresh water and the molluscs spend up to 3 months here, growing fat and developing a greenish tinge from, strangely enough, a microscopic blue seaweed. You may have seen oysters on sale called “fines de claires”, which are regarded as the best of the best, having spent the maximum time in the claires.
We spent the rest of the two weeks hoovering up the island’s oysters and relishing the ocean tinged flavour of each one. I’m surprised that we’re not known as the oyster killers after that, but there may be people who can get through more than I can.
The prices of the local seafood are so much lower here than in the rest of France or indeed in neighbouring countries that one can be forgiven this self-indulgence.
That evening we were driven out to a restaurant where our son and d-i-l have had good meals in the past and whose card they have placed in their rental properties. This was a disappointment, to put it mildly. The St Peter fish Jackie and I had chosen had run out so we were offered sea bass instead. When it was served it was not cooked all the way through so the flesh clung stubbornly to the bones. The service was not up to much either, so the restaurant’s card was removed from their properties the next day. They didn’t want to recommend a restaurant to their own customers when the quality of the food varied so wildly.
The next day we went out to explore another area which has as its central attraction a covered market. As I had volunteered to make boeuf bourguignon I went around the market selecting carrots, celery, potatoes and mushrooms. Jackie and I were amazed at the prices we paid. For carrots, celery and mushrooms we paid less than €3 and just half that for the potatoes. I had a wander round looking at the butcher’s stalls searching for bacon. When I mentioned what I needed the young lady at one stall held up two (small) sides of bacon and asked me which one I fancied. I pointed to the leanest one and she then asked how thick I would like it. I said around 3 milimetres and told her I would like around 5 slices. With that purchase I was finished with my shopping and we spent a while wandering around to see what else was on sale.
When we reached home I set off for our son’s local butcher, only a couple of hundred metres away. I came back with some good chunks of beef which I first had to trim and then settled into a dish with a couple of sticks of celery, halved, and a couple of carrots, also halved. I crushed a couple of cloves of garlic and quartered a good sized onon, finally adding three bay leaves. I then covered it all with a bottle of good red wine, and after sealing the top of the dish with clingfilm I set it in the fridge to marinate overnight.
The next morning we went off to have a look at the rental properties our son and d-i-l had purchased. They had carried out some attractive renovations and Jackie and I both agreed that had we rented one of them for a holiday we would have been satisfied with the accommodation and the price we were being charged. (And when we spoke to them just a couple of days ago we learned that they are virtually fully booked for July and August, something they didn’t think would happen in their first year.)
Our morning the next day was spent with our son driving us around to show us a couple of the local sights. After returning home we had a quick lunch and I then set the boeuf bourgignon to simmering for 5 hours. I stayed around for the afternoon, giving our meal the occasional stir and checking the seasoning.
When we finally sat down to dinner just after 7 I impressed my family once again (this wasn’t the first time I’d prepared this particular dish for them).
After that we fell into a kind of irregular routine, one of us cooking the evening meal one day and we all went out to one of the local restaurants our family had discovered the next. And it was so rewarding - each restaurant came up with something special. From the first disappointing restaurant our meals improved each time.
Another of our outings was to La Rochelle with our son, while his wife stayed home and did the washing (not ours, I hasten to add, but for their rental properties). That was a pleasant day, drifting around the harbour, exploring the old town with its narrow streets and variety of shops. I bought a bottle of Ile de Ré cognac (this area, I discovered, is in the Cognac region). Our son had reserved a table in a restaurant for lunch which turned out to be a pleasant interlude in our sightseeing day.
The restaurant was situated on a narrow street in the old town, picturesque and thriving. We had an enjoyable meal and then wandered around the streets for a while.
First, thanks are due to Daisy and Jay for their likes. They're appreciated.
The rest of the fortnight was passed in similar vein. The rain, however, came on every day except our first and last. Luckily, it didn’t rain for the whole day but we would have a downpour in the morning, for example, but then it would clear from about 11 a.m. and after that we would enjoy sunshine and warm temperatures. We would eat out on alternate evenings and one of us would cook on the evening spent at home.
What Jackie and I found amusing was that each time we ate out the meal would be better than the previous one. We stuck to seafood as our son assured us that as this was the local restaurants’ entire raison d’être they didn’t do steaks or meat dishes as well as they did the sea’s products.
The final one was a real show stopper. Strangely, this is a restaurant that does not announce itself as such - there are no signs saying “Restaurant: great seafood” or anything of that nature. On the other side of the road is a seafood market which does have a sign, and it’s owned by the same people who own the restaurant. Our son only found it because his estate agent, from whom they bought all their properties, invited them to dinner there.
The restaurant is called La Roue Tourne (The Wheel Turns) and we did indeed turn into a small road next to it and parked on a small area behind. It wasn’t crowded as the season wasn’t yet in full swing so there were us four, another family of four and another of six.
We were the first to arrive so we were running slightly ahead of the other two groups. We ordered one of the set menus which sounded so attractive that you’d have to be dead to be able to resist. We started off with a small appetizer, then came the first course of 6 oysters apiece. Then came one of the most spectacularly produced courses I’ve ever seen - mussels. Now what’s new about mussels, I hear you ask, but I think you’ll undersand when I describe its production. The waiter began by inviting us to follow him outside. He was carrying a wooden board about 2 feet long. Upon the board had been placed mussels, the opening side downwards, so that there were around a hundred mussels. Out in the garden he placed the board down on the ground then scraped dead pine needles over the mussels. He set fire to the needles and kept moving them around so that the mussels were constantly covered by the burning material. After a few minutes like this the needles had burnt away and the mussels were covered in grey ash which he carefully fanned away. He led us back into the restaurant, placing the board carefully onto the tabletop so that none of the mussels were disturbed from their places.
We started eating, finding the shells had opened up in the heat so all we had to do was use the small forks provided to scoop the flesh out and into our mouths. They were absolutely delicious, tasting of the sea with piney overtones. I could have gone on eating them all afternoon, but we reached the last mussel all too soon and we all had to adjourn to the washroom to get the soot and ash off our hands.
The main course I had chosen was turbot with a lemon sauce, another dream to savour. I followed up with a raspberry sorbet and a coffee, feeling a little low as this would be our last dinner on the island. We had done our packing that morning and were due to drive to La Rochelle straight after breakfast for the train to Paris.
The journey home went smoothly, and we arrived back in the early evening. After unpacking we drove to a nearby Italian restaurant for dinner.
We left our son and daughter-in-law with our fervent wishes that their new business is a success. We have since heard from them that their advance bookings are better than they hoped for in their original business plan. We’re keeping our fingers crossed.
The rest of the fortnight was passed in similar vein. The rain, however, came on every day except our first and last. Luckily, it didn’t rain for the whole day but we would have a downpour in the morning, for example, but then it would clear from about 11 a.m. and after that we would enjoy sunshine and warm temperatures. We would eat out on alternate evenings and one of us would cook on the evening spent at home.
What Jackie and I found amusing was that each time we ate out the meal would be better than the previous one. We stuck to seafood as our son assured us that as this was the local restaurants’ entire raison d’être they didn’t do steaks or meat dishes as well as they did the sea’s products.
The final one was a real show stopper. Strangely, this is a restaurant that does not announce itself as such - there are no signs saying “Restaurant: great seafood” or anything of that nature. On the other side of the road is a seafood market which does have a sign, and it’s owned by the same people who own the restaurant. Our son only found it because his estate agent, from whom they bought all their properties, invited them to dinner there.
The restaurant is called La Roue Tourne (The Wheel Turns) and we did indeed turn into a small road next to it and parked on a small area behind. It wasn’t crowded as the season wasn’t yet in full swing so there were us four, another family of four and another of six.
We were the first to arrive so we were running slightly ahead of the other two groups. We ordered one of the set menus which sounded so attractive that you’d have to be dead to be able to resist. We started off with a small appetizer, then came the first course of 6 oysters apiece. Then came one of the most spectacularly produced courses I’ve ever seen - mussels. Now what’s new about mussels, I hear you ask, but I think you’ll undersand when I describe its production. The waiter began by inviting us to follow him outside. He was carrying a wooden board about 2 feet long. Upon the board had been placed mussels, the opening side downwards, so that there were around a hundred mussels. Out in the garden he placed the board down on the ground then scraped dead pine needles over the mussels. He set fire to the needles and kept moving them around so that the mussels were constantly covered by the burning material. After a few minutes like this the needles had burnt away and the mussels were covered in grey ash which he carefully fanned away. He led us back into the restaurant, placing the board carefully onto the tabletop so that none of the mussels were disturbed from their places.
We started eating, finding the shells had opened up in the heat so all we had to do was use the small forks provided to scoop the flesh out and into our mouths. They were absolutely delicious, tasting of the sea with piney overtones. I could have gone on eating them all afternoon, but we reached the last mussel all too soon and we all had to adjourn to the washroom to get the soot and ash off our hands.
The main course I had chosen was turbot with a lemon sauce, another dream to savour. I followed up with a raspberry sorbet and a coffee, feeling a little low as this would be our last dinner on the island. We had done our packing that morning and were due to drive to La Rochelle straight after breakfast for the train to Paris.
The journey home went smoothly, and we arrived back in the early evening. After unpacking we drove to a nearby Italian restaurant for dinner.
We left our son and daughter-in-law with our fervent wishes that their new business is a success. We have since heard from them that their advance bookings are better than they hoped for in their original business plan. We’re keeping our fingers crossed.
We are now two days away from our river cruise from Amsterdam to Budapest with a 3 day extension in Prague. Luckily this was all booked and paid for before those gigantic dental bills started arriving.
I’ll be covering this trip as it includes many places we haven’t visited before. I just hope the weather stays fine for us.
I’ll be covering this trip as it includes many places we haven’t visited before. I just hope the weather stays fine for us.
jay hay-char
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 3,683
- Type of diabetes
- Type 2
- Treatment type
- Diet only
