Ahhhh France; our first foray into Europe proper, as well as our last. It was the scene of my first experience driving on the right-hand side of the road, an experience which neither one of us wants to relive. It was the place which allowed us to stock up on cheap groceries prior to entering Switzerland. It was also the warm gentle 'hug' we received upon fleeing Italy like two highly strung squirrels in a blue Peugeot.
We had of course been to France earlier in the year for a skiing trip at Chamonix, the details of which I'm sure I've written about before in this blog. So my thoughts here are only from the trip we did most recently...
Upon alighting from the ferry which bore us the short distance across the English Channel, we became recipients of a few hard earned lessons.
One lesson was that driving on the right hand side of the road does not come second nature to an Australian. However, to be fair to myself, it was really only the first few roundabouts which caused concern from the passenger seat, and from there on it was simply 'following traffic'.
The other lesson we learnt was that if you have an choice between driving on the tolled motorways in France or instead taking a (free) 'A' road or 'Highway', stop being a tight arse, pay the toll and get to your destination 4 hours earlier. This lesson was taught in the old sense, the 'learning by doing' sense. A trip from Boulogne to Val-de-Vesle (in the Champagne Region) which ordinarily would have taken us 2.5 hours saw us instead arriving (via our NavMan-oriented myriad of roads) at our campsite near on dark, a solidly inefficient 6.5 hours later.
The area around Reims is known as the 'Champagne Region' for a good reason, and it's not because they grow 'region' grapes there. We happened upon a couple of local wineries and sampled some of the most palatable champagne I've ever had the pleasure of tasting. In fact, I'm fairly sure it was the only champagne I've been able to drink without drawing similarities in my mind with how urine of a cat may taste.
After a night in Val-de-Vesle, we moved on to visit Nicola's cousin, Laura, who lives in Ornans (towards the Swiss border). It was such a beautiful little town, resplendent with its surrounding green hills, snake-like river running in its centre and a Romanesque church (most of which dates from the 16th century, but the clock tower of which still stands from the 12th century). The hospitality we received was so warm and friendly that we were quite hesitant to move on - meeting Nicola's cousin, her husband and little daughter was a great way to begin our holiday!
From there, we were whisked away by our tight schedule to Switzerland, and were only to return to France after a further 77 days of hard travelling. As alluded to earlier, re-entry into France was particularly anticipated by me as I had grave concerns regarding the mental constitution of my small travelling companion, who (after being affected by the intensity of Italy) had taken to talking to the Tumeric.
Our first port of call after re-entry was St. Tropez, in the South of France. St. Tropez is known primarily for its beaches and beach-goers; the rich and beautiful who go to 'be seen'. It is simply too geographically close to Monaco and Nice to escape being tarnished by the brush of hedonism. We encountered this head-on when out for lunch one day, as we ended up in a restaurant packed with white-linen wearing, plastic surgeon-beach house-providing, Chihuahua-carriers. The intensity was not dulled by the waiters who were absolutely impeccably dressed in white themselves, and who seemed almost invisible to the diner while being a continuous source of movement and service.
Regardless of us putting away a beautiful Rose as an accompaniment to seafood, the expansiveness of the bill from that particular meal was still nowhere near as significant as the cultural learning that took place by yours truly.
We took advantage of what was to be the last remaining days of true summer to lounge around on the beach before our schedule had us heading north to the Loir Valley. Within the space of an (admittedly long) 8-hour drive, long sandy stretches of beach blurred into flat green pastures and finally into areas of deep forest. And on that same 8-hour drive, the top temperature went from a rather satisfying 26 degrees to around 15.
The Loir Valley is the place to go if you have a specific and unfulfilled hankering for castles. It appeared that we both DID have unquenched longings for castles, so it was lucky we were here. Castles 'France-style' seem to be generally less about 'fortifying the crap out of it' (others we'd seen seemed to have been prepared for invasion from a storming mass of tanks) and more about 'luxury, style and good positioning'. Amongst others, we saw a castle in the midst of a river, which used the natural environs as protection as well as a source of aesthetic convenience.
It was lovely to just drive between castles, winding through back roads lined by vineyards, corn fields and their small accompanying farmlets. It is one of the most rustically beautiful places I have ever been - except for the castles themselves, there was nothing ostentatious, showy or confronting about the place. Just clean, fresh air, green rolling meadows and a wonderful sense of simplicity.
For the final time on mainland Europe, our schedule got in the way of our desire to stay, and we made our way to Paris. Having been to Paris before, I knew what to expect to an extent. However, Paris on this occasion soon seemed to sweep away what I had expected and replaced it with a whole new perspective.
Sure, it has the Eiffel Tower (which we climbed), the Louvre (which we spent hours walking around), the Arc de Triomphe (which we stood under) along with countless other attractions. But as with France itself, Paris is not about what is there, it's about the way people live and interact. We experienced a large mix of lifestyles, from the well-off luxury brand store-spattered streets of Saint-Germain to the heavily immigrant populated areas near Saint-Ouen (which features men cooking corn in supermarket trolleys in flea markets).
Regardless of this spread of cultural diversity, there was something that brought it all together in Paris - a strong, coherent policy of 'no bullshit'. Unlike Italy, where we felt as though every interaction with someone (both invited and uninvited) would be a story in itself, French people are happy to be simply calm, polite and (almost) anonymous. We loved spending one of our days just simply 'living' there - we'd already taken in all of the tourist must-sees, and took the opportunity to wander around, shop and eat in the places which interested us.
Only Prague is its match with regards to romance, inspiration and 'vibe'.
On the way back to board our ferry back to Britain, I had made some plans to stop in at Daours, the final resting place of some of my ancestors. We had allocated 45 minutes to locating the town and visiting the graves, however hadn't foreseen a 'once a year' festival which was taking place in the centre of Daours itself, rendering the entire town inaccessible by car. The 45 minutes were soon taken up trying to find 'back ways' to enter the village, but to no avail. We simply couldn't stay any longer, and to my disappointment we had to speed off to catch our ferry in time without entering the cemetery.
However, my disappointment was soon quelled by the realisation that what had happened to me was very unapologetically 'French'. I had just come face to face with the very thing I loved about the place - the fact that people don't feel a need to put themselves out for you to any great extent - if they want to block off an ENTIRE town to all traffic on a particular day, then they will just damn well do it. And good on them.
Key activities on the trip…
- Sampling wine in the Champagne region
- Spending time with Nicola's family (in their beautiful little home) in Ornans
- Stretching out on the sandy beaches near St. Tropez, and sampling the local restaurant culture
- Castle-gawking in the Loir Valley
- Being tourists, shoppers and general awe-inspired appreciators of Paris
Highlights…
- The countryside was beautiful, the farms well organised and productive and the trees substantial, making for some of the more diverse and interesting driving of the journey.
- Paris was a stunning city, and behind all of the cultural icons and attractions it becomes even richer.
- Getting the opportunity of watching a man cook corn in a supermarket trolley would have to go in the almost full category of 'things I didn't think I ever needed to see'. Sure, using what appears to be an old rusted out oil drum filled with glowing embers may not SEEM to be the most hygienic or Worksafe-friendly means of preparing corn, but if imperative convenience and lack of fiscal resources hamper you, I don't see why not.
- Re-establishing sanity of both of us. My shoulders and eyebrows dropped around 2 inches each upon leaving Italy (I really loved the place, but it was intense) and entering relaxed, slower-paced France. I managed to locate and hide the Tumeric from Nicola to prevent any recurrence of the issues encountered earlier and I'm pleased to say that we're on track for a full recovery.
- Watching the North Africans around the Eiffel Tower (who sold mini Eiffel Tower keyrings and other assorted toys) spend their days stuffing around with their toys, joking with each other, and preparing for the arrival of the Police, at which point they all shouted and sprinted away as quickly as they could. Clearly it was illegal for them to be selling the items they were selling where they were selling them, but it was entertaining to watch nonetheless.
Lowlights…
- Missing out on visiting the grave of my ancestors was a bit disappointing, but at least I got within a few hundred metres!
The people:
Put simply, the French were some of the nicest people we encountered on our journeys. So strap yourselves in for a journey of stereotype destruction Dawes-style:
- French people ARE NOT rude. Calling a Frenchman 'rude' is akin to calling a goat 'uneducated'. Just because the goat does not know Pythagorean mathematical theory does not mean that it should.
- French people DO NOT mind that you speak English. My constant butchering of French was met with bright eyes, a knowing nod and a faint hint of a smile. After hearing aforementioned 'French', a conversation in English was forthcoming.
- French people DO NOT smell like garlic. They just don't.
- French people DO NOT only eat snails and frogs. Their food is amazing, especially pastries, vegetables and soups. I truly admire their strong desire to source food locally and to 'grow their own'.
Sure, there are exceptions to every rule (as with any population), but never has a culture been so heavily pigeonholed as the French. It gets me to think about the way that people think of their own culture, and has me quite sceptical of the desire Australians have to label themselves as 'friendly and laid-back'.
Trust me - French people are just as rude or as polite as they need to be in any given situation. There is nothing I hate more than a person who is fake and who will be overly friendly to your face, all the while hiding a brooding passive aggression (yes, I'm talking about you Mr. Croatian in the corner).
It was I suppose my positive experiences with the people that had a great influence on my final impressions of France as a whole. In a way, they are like the English, just without the extra chivalry.
In summary:
While the rest of Europe was akin to driving through and experiencing a mėlange of intense culture and personality, France appeared an island of sanity, of 'life as usual'. Of course, it had a beautifully rich culture of its' own, however the culture was more 'hands-off'.
You feel free to travel and experience exactly how you wish in France, each person is his or her own person, and there is not seen to be any real need to make an effort on anyone else's behalf (friends and family excepted of course). What a wonderfully refreshing and admirable way to live (especially coming from an Australian perspective, where Today Tonight and the Herald Sun together perpetuate a malignant culture of life intrusion, fence-peering and finger pointing). A Frenchman would not care if you had three heads and spoke as if a Bushman of the Kalahari - they would simply be polite to any enquiries you have and get on with their own lives.
How long this kind of free 'each person to themselves' existence can be maintained is up for question - France's President seems to be doing his utmost to alienate pockets of the population for whatever political purposes. However it does seem as though the French people themselves have a tightly held notion of sincerity, honesty but modest unobtrusiveness.
The countryside, the towns, the castles, the beaches - all of these in France were simply beautiful. This is combined with my appreciation of the people and their way of life. No wonder I left France pondering its place among my favourite places ever visited.
I would liken it to:
A zucchini. A completely misunderstood and often misjudged thing. People generally don't know enough about it and are scared of it, so it often goes untouched.
Fortunately, I know exactly what to do with it, and quite enjoy the richness of flavour it can provide.
