...is not nearly long enough!
Strange how music and
television can influence us. I was still very young when I saw a dubbed
television programme called "Die meisie van Avignon" (The
girl from Avignon) in the late 1970's and I have been wanting to
visit Avignon ever since. Then I heard the 1969 Peter Sarstedt hit "Where
do you go to my lovely", and I was hooked on the region, made a
promise to myself that I would one day visit the South of France to see what
Avignon looks like and experience the Côte d'Azur.
With this in mind, and still
on a bit of a high from our Leonard Cohen concert the previous night we got up
very early on Sunday, 25th August to start the next leg of our
European adventure. Humming "So long, Marianne" to
ourselves, we hopped on the first of three trains for the day... Off to
Provence to meet Cameron and company for his 50th birthday
celebrations on the Monday.
I love train journeys, but I
must admit that the romance of it wears off if you have exactly six minutes to
gather all your luggage, jump off the train, run like mad to find the correct
platform, board the next (and correct!) train, stow your luggage and
find your assigned seats.
Having first-hand experience of the precise Swiss transportation system and having been warned that, if we miss the second of our three trains, we will have a lot of trouble getting to Avignon on the same day, we ran between the two trains like insane people, dragging luggage, umbrellas and backpacks across the length of the station, down stairs, up escalators and into the next train carriage, just in time before the doors clunked shut behind us, literally with seconds to spare.
Having first-hand experience of the precise Swiss transportation system and having been warned that, if we miss the second of our three trains, we will have a lot of trouble getting to Avignon on the same day, we ran between the two trains like insane people, dragging luggage, umbrellas and backpacks across the length of the station, down stairs, up escalators and into the next train carriage, just in time before the doors clunked shut behind us, literally with seconds to spare.
Having cut my foot slightly
on the escalator and thoroughly irritated with all the uncalled for exercise, I
went into a sulk and slept the rest of the way, to be woken up in time to grab
the luggage and repeat the same process for the last leg of our trip.
Strangely enough, the second train left the Swiss station exactly on time, travelled the correct speed, by all accounts did not linger at any stops en route, but arrived at the French station twenty minutes late, so we were convinced that we missed the next connection. Not so. The French railway system is much more relaxed, it seems, and despite our panicked mad dash across the station, past Customs (where I did not have my passport stamped*) and despite being twenty minutes late, we still departed on the correct train for Avignon!
Strangely enough, the second train left the Swiss station exactly on time, travelled the correct speed, by all accounts did not linger at any stops en route, but arrived at the French station twenty minutes late, so we were convinced that we missed the next connection. Not so. The French railway system is much more relaxed, it seems, and despite our panicked mad dash across the station, past Customs (where I did not have my passport stamped*) and despite being twenty minutes late, we still departed on the correct train for Avignon!
Arrived at Avignon station,
rented a teeny-tiny little clown car (AKA a Citroen C1) and off we were again,
to find our accommodation for the night in a small but lovely little town
called Orange. The decision to stay in Orange was two-fold: one, it was
within spitting distance of Chateauneuf-du-Pape and, two, I love orange. As
soon as I saw a town called Orange on the map, I decided that I
had to be completely surrounded by my favourite colour, even if for just once
in my life!
For some reason we did not
take any pictures of Orange. We stayed in a gorgeous little Bed 'n
Breakfast, we walked and walked the cobble-stoned streets of the town, passed
massive chestnut trees and drinking fountains, we ate in a cosy restaurant
mostly frequented by locals, so not a touristy place at all, but for some
reason the camera stayed in the backpack the whole time. Oh, correction,
I took a picture of my food. So, one picture taken in the very
picturesque town of Orange. Shame!
The food was wonderful, but way too cutesy: Fillet of beef with foie gras in a pastry parcel, some green stuff in the form of an upside-down muffin, a note (literally) of balsamic reduction and then some other veggie-type stuff I did not recognise fully but it was yummy, none the less!
On Monday morning we set off
to the Chateauneuf-du-Pape vineyards and met our friends Cameron, his wife
Claudia and the rest of their tour group (they were in the middle of a
Mediterranean cruise) at the Cuvée du Vatican winery for a glimpse into
wine making and, of course, a wine tasting. The tour was very interesting
and the tasting went by in a blur. Then off to the nearby Chateau des
Fines Roches for a superb lunch.
Lunch with a view!
Early Tuesday morning we
pointed the nose of our little clown car in the direction of the French
Riviera. Côte d'Azur, here we come!
Later this week: The Azure
Coast and Avignon.
* The borders between Switzerland and France, and
between France and Italy seemed very fluid as my passport was not checked at
any of these border crossings. Found myself a little bit disappointed, as
I now only have Swiss entry and Italian exit stamps in the passport to show for
the trip!
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