Arrived back in Melbourne last night. Interesting that I've got a winter garden happening here, as opposed to all the greenery and flowers blooming in France and Germany. However, the weather is quite similar to that on the day we left Munich on Friday. Except it's not raining here. The sun's up and it looks like my washing will mostly dry on the line.
Before I put our wonderful holiday to bed, I must mention that our final few days in Munich went well.
Despite my concerns re McRent, the rental company from which we hired our van, the handover was better than expected. We'd felt ripped off in 2010 when we were forced to pay 100 euro for an alleged hair and smudge of 'shampoo' in the bathroom as I mentioned in my previous post
This time we had to return the van on the date planned between 9 and 10 am. I'd awoken at about five. Special combo of anxiety and the fact that it was light outside. I'd started my cleaning frenzy by seven. I was quite irrational but determined that the van would 'pass' the inspection. Unfortunately, it started raining which made it particularly difficult to keep mud and footprints out of the van. I covered the clean floor in towels and Chux cleaning cloths and we used these like stepping stones to avoid 'recontamination'.
We were also concerned about being charged for a faulty latch on the rear door of the van. When we'd returned our van in 2010 we were charged for a key that snapped off inside the lock. Surely not our fault but rather the quality of the key?
As per instructions, we filled the tank with fuel then dropped it into the carwash prior to returning it. McRent pays for this final exterior clean.
Upon our return to McRent, Sulzemoos - 27 kilometres from Munich - we were greeted by a delightful bloke. He seemed impressed by our efforts. He climbed a ladder to inspect the roof, lest we'd damaged it in some way. We had been concerned about hail storm damage, but we were clear. He surveyed the vehicle, muttering 'Gut, gut,' while I hovered around in my massive yellow Vietnam rain poncho. In one hand I clutched a trigger bottle of all purpose cleaner; in the other a Chux cloth, ready to pounce had he suggested, like his female counterpart two years earlier, that the van was not clean. Must have looked a tad insane.
Perhaps it was this insanity that led me to take close up shots of all the surfaces in the bathroom as proof of their gleaming condition.
I needn't have been so concerned. The fellow assured us that it wasn't our fault that the door latch had broken and that it was easily fixed. We passed with flying colours, apart from the 302 euro that we had to pay for damage - our fault - to the table top in the van. Otherwise, we got the rest of our 1200 euro deposit back.
The guy at McRent could not have been more obliging on our return, including driving us and our bags back into the village to catch our bus to Munich.
BTW we also did well selling back our bikes. We'd originally paid 260 euro for two second hand bikes. We sold them back for 120 euro. We couldn't have rented bikes for eight weeks at that price. Definitely the way to go if you're ever considering a similar trip.
So, props to McRent.
And props to us. We drove 3000 kilometres and cycled 685k during our eight week holiday.
Showing posts with label emptynesters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emptynesters. Show all posts
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Angers, Pays du Loire. Or bust.
Sunday. Rain. And it's set in according to my iPhone weather forecast. Popped in to a Maccas for a cafe and wifi use to see whether we could manage a visit to my cousin, who lives in France. Needed to check Google maps because her place wasn't listed in our Michelin guide. Tant pis - too bad. Seems she's 250 k south of where we are. That's a big round trip when your days are numbered. Next visit, it seems. (And hi, Penny, BTW. Was so good to hear from you.)
Instead we headed further west along the Loire valley to a place called Angers. We're just winging it here in France. We've no idea what we're cherching - searching - for. Chateaux? Voies vertes - like our rail trails in Victoria - or veloroutes - shared bike/car trails along the Loire? Found a good one yesterday. 50 k. Brilliant.
Angers, according to the yellow patch on the map, is a big place. Supposedly there's a 'camping' in the centre. We stop for a wonderful lunch in a place called Noyant. (Duck confit cooked in cider with mushrooms, a ratatouille modge thing, asparagus cooked in butter and saute potatoes. Delish. All that was left on our plates were denuded duck thigh bones. Al finishes with a creme brulee. Excellent fare at a roadside pub. Apologies for my tense swapping, BTW. Not enough battery to proof and edit! My excuse and I'm sticking with it.)
Then came the fun bit. Besides the nasty weather we had immense trouble finding our camping at Angers, despite us having plotted it all out. I'm talking serious map perusal and highlighting of appropriate roads. Somehow, as we approached Angers, we were 'herded' onto the autoroute and then missed our turnoff to the camping. I swear there was no turnoff! We drove about 16 k beyond where we were supposed to be and decided to get off the autoroute and turn around; see if we'd have better luck going the other way.
Suddenly, we're at a totally unexpected toll booth. We had been, unbeknown to us, on 'le peage' - the tollway.
"Quick, Al. Get your credit card.'
'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' Fumble, fumble, fumble.
Al grabs his wallet out of the glove box. gets the card out, sticks it in the appropriate hole. Reject. Invalid. He tries another card. Same result. I quickly grab my card. Uh-uh. I'm invalid too, it seems. And we have no coins and the machine won't take notes. If only Al hadn't been so concerned about leaving a ten percent tip at the restaurant. Farque alors!
We pressed for assistance. 'Parlez vous Anglais?' I ask, knowing I won't be able to explain our dilemma in my crapue French. 'A leetle.'
We explain. The disembodied voice tells us to insert our credit card again. Same result. And clearly she is not able to press the button to release the hapless travellers. Instead, some music starts playing. Seems she's hung up.
We're stuck. I grab a 20 euro note - our smallest currency - leap out of the van and accost the woman, who just happens to have a disconcerting wandering eye (no offence but she did) in the car behind. I wave the note at her and she winds down her window an inch. I explain the situation in the best French I can muster. She checks her wallet but only has 15 euro in notes. Tant pis.
I'm panicking. An arm has emerged from the third car back and it's making an angry gesture. I approach the second car back, my 20 euro held in front of me; prayer like. The driver says he has no money but the passenger springs out, tells me he'll help and approaches the toll booth.
The 'remote controller' is no more help, despite the young gent's perfect French. The fellow tries our cards again, but to no avail. At least we know we weren't sticking it in the wrong way - which would be typical of us.. No matter. Our young gallant darts back to his car and returns with the 2 euro 80 in coins and pays for us. How lovely! I tell him, like a lover, je t'adore - I adore you - using the inappropriate informal voice. De rien, he says. It's nothing. And he wishes us a good day and we're through.
We have found our way back to Angers and have located the camping, which is 'a local place, for local people' for League of Gentlemen fans. Don't know whether there's anything for us here. But we're resolved to donning our plastic Vietnam ponchos and braving the rain tomorrow. It seems it's here to stay for the foreseeable future and I don't want it to get in the way of us seeing France, the country of my dreaming.
But I'm wondering whether it might not have been a better option to head south in search of my first cousin. Wonder what the weather's like there.
Instead we headed further west along the Loire valley to a place called Angers. We're just winging it here in France. We've no idea what we're cherching - searching - for. Chateaux? Voies vertes - like our rail trails in Victoria - or veloroutes - shared bike/car trails along the Loire? Found a good one yesterday. 50 k. Brilliant.
Angers, according to the yellow patch on the map, is a big place. Supposedly there's a 'camping' in the centre. We stop for a wonderful lunch in a place called Noyant. (Duck confit cooked in cider with mushrooms, a ratatouille modge thing, asparagus cooked in butter and saute potatoes. Delish. All that was left on our plates were denuded duck thigh bones. Al finishes with a creme brulee. Excellent fare at a roadside pub. Apologies for my tense swapping, BTW. Not enough battery to proof and edit! My excuse and I'm sticking with it.)
Then came the fun bit. Besides the nasty weather we had immense trouble finding our camping at Angers, despite us having plotted it all out. I'm talking serious map perusal and highlighting of appropriate roads. Somehow, as we approached Angers, we were 'herded' onto the autoroute and then missed our turnoff to the camping. I swear there was no turnoff! We drove about 16 k beyond where we were supposed to be and decided to get off the autoroute and turn around; see if we'd have better luck going the other way.
Suddenly, we're at a totally unexpected toll booth. We had been, unbeknown to us, on 'le peage' - the tollway.
"Quick, Al. Get your credit card.'
'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' Fumble, fumble, fumble.
Al grabs his wallet out of the glove box. gets the card out, sticks it in the appropriate hole. Reject. Invalid. He tries another card. Same result. I quickly grab my card. Uh-uh. I'm invalid too, it seems. And we have no coins and the machine won't take notes. If only Al hadn't been so concerned about leaving a ten percent tip at the restaurant. Farque alors!
We pressed for assistance. 'Parlez vous Anglais?' I ask, knowing I won't be able to explain our dilemma in my crapue French. 'A leetle.'
We explain. The disembodied voice tells us to insert our credit card again. Same result. And clearly she is not able to press the button to release the hapless travellers. Instead, some music starts playing. Seems she's hung up.
We're stuck. I grab a 20 euro note - our smallest currency - leap out of the van and accost the woman, who just happens to have a disconcerting wandering eye (no offence but she did) in the car behind. I wave the note at her and she winds down her window an inch. I explain the situation in the best French I can muster. She checks her wallet but only has 15 euro in notes. Tant pis.
I'm panicking. An arm has emerged from the third car back and it's making an angry gesture. I approach the second car back, my 20 euro held in front of me; prayer like. The driver says he has no money but the passenger springs out, tells me he'll help and approaches the toll booth.
The 'remote controller' is no more help, despite the young gent's perfect French. The fellow tries our cards again, but to no avail. At least we know we weren't sticking it in the wrong way - which would be typical of us.. No matter. Our young gallant darts back to his car and returns with the 2 euro 80 in coins and pays for us. How lovely! I tell him, like a lover, je t'adore - I adore you - using the inappropriate informal voice. De rien, he says. It's nothing. And he wishes us a good day and we're through.
We have found our way back to Angers and have located the camping, which is 'a local place, for local people' for League of Gentlemen fans. Don't know whether there's anything for us here. But we're resolved to donning our plastic Vietnam ponchos and braving the rain tomorrow. It seems it's here to stay for the foreseeable future and I don't want it to get in the way of us seeing France, the country of my dreaming.
But I'm wondering whether it might not have been a better option to head south in search of my first cousin. Wonder what the weather's like there.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Onzain, Loire valley.
Spent last night at Chatres-sur-Cher. Sounds so simple, doesn't it?
We'd left Auxerre reasonably early that morning to visit Chablis. We parked at the Intermarche supermarket to stock up, then left the van in the carpark to cycle into the old town. Pretty, of course: narrow, winding stone walled lanes, all apparently built on top of one another. And then I thought, I'm pretty close to my neighbors back home, albeit in a weatherboard sort of way. Many of the lanes in Chablis won't even admit a small car. On your velo - bike- however, you can go anywhere.
Next drove to Vierzon, about 90k away. This was the closest biggish place to where Al had spotted, on the map & in the camping guide, what he thought would be an ideal camping, between the river Cher & its canal. But the place, Chatres-sur-Cher, wasn't on the map.
Well, getting to Vierzon wasn't a problem. Easy. When we arrived we found it was a sprawling suburban 'working class' sort of place. No indication of which way to go to find our 'ideal' camping.
We stopped in a Maccas. The young girl serving couldn't have been more obliging. She even drew a map with traffic lights and a 'hopital' to show us the way. If only I'd had her 'plan' - map - the right way up when I was giving Al directions.
Al was very kind.
Eventually we found the camp on the road to Tours & it was so ideal that it only cost 8 euros for the site & we could park anywhere cos there was only one other couple there. As an added bonus we'd found the only canal in France without a cycle/tow path so no rides there.
On the other hand, the washing machine was free & it was blowing such a gale that our washing dried within a couple of hours. Also had a bit of an opportunity to develop my French skills when the washing machine flooded. (Pardon Madame. Il y' a l'inundation dans les douches. Excuse me, madam. I've flooded the showers.) Struck up quite a rapport with the patron - boss - as we mopped the laundry floor.
Actually, that camp in the middle of nowhere was wonderful. Big river; sun on my back; no traffic noise. And the woman at reception was delighted - & surprised - to have customers. She spoke absolutely no English so my French got a good workout. Also got the showers & toilets to myself in the morning. Very cleansing.
Now, we're in the municipal camping in Onzain in the Loire valley. Got a bit shirty on the way here. We were searching for a four star camping as recommended by the guide book. Was like solving a goblin's riddle - or is it a troll? - trying to find the place. When we did, at the divorce stage, it was a veritable suburbia of tin cabins & indoor heated swimming pools. Despite the 90 minute search for the sodding place, it wasn't for us. We returned, through the vines and waving barley fields & tortuous villages, to the basic municipal on the Loire. And, btw, right on the cycling route along the Loire.
Hard to remain shitty when you've screamed with joy into the wind whipping through the Loire valley as you cross the bridge - walking your bike because otherwise you'd be swept off.
Tomorrow, a 46 k round trip along the flat between here - Onzain - and Blois. With chateaux to spare.
We'd left Auxerre reasonably early that morning to visit Chablis. We parked at the Intermarche supermarket to stock up, then left the van in the carpark to cycle into the old town. Pretty, of course: narrow, winding stone walled lanes, all apparently built on top of one another. And then I thought, I'm pretty close to my neighbors back home, albeit in a weatherboard sort of way. Many of the lanes in Chablis won't even admit a small car. On your velo - bike- however, you can go anywhere.
Next drove to Vierzon, about 90k away. This was the closest biggish place to where Al had spotted, on the map & in the camping guide, what he thought would be an ideal camping, between the river Cher & its canal. But the place, Chatres-sur-Cher, wasn't on the map.
Well, getting to Vierzon wasn't a problem. Easy. When we arrived we found it was a sprawling suburban 'working class' sort of place. No indication of which way to go to find our 'ideal' camping.
We stopped in a Maccas. The young girl serving couldn't have been more obliging. She even drew a map with traffic lights and a 'hopital' to show us the way. If only I'd had her 'plan' - map - the right way up when I was giving Al directions.
Al was very kind.
Eventually we found the camp on the road to Tours & it was so ideal that it only cost 8 euros for the site & we could park anywhere cos there was only one other couple there. As an added bonus we'd found the only canal in France without a cycle/tow path so no rides there.
On the other hand, the washing machine was free & it was blowing such a gale that our washing dried within a couple of hours. Also had a bit of an opportunity to develop my French skills when the washing machine flooded. (Pardon Madame. Il y' a l'inundation dans les douches. Excuse me, madam. I've flooded the showers.) Struck up quite a rapport with the patron - boss - as we mopped the laundry floor.
Actually, that camp in the middle of nowhere was wonderful. Big river; sun on my back; no traffic noise. And the woman at reception was delighted - & surprised - to have customers. She spoke absolutely no English so my French got a good workout. Also got the showers & toilets to myself in the morning. Very cleansing.
Now, we're in the municipal camping in Onzain in the Loire valley. Got a bit shirty on the way here. We were searching for a four star camping as recommended by the guide book. Was like solving a goblin's riddle - or is it a troll? - trying to find the place. When we did, at the divorce stage, it was a veritable suburbia of tin cabins & indoor heated swimming pools. Despite the 90 minute search for the sodding place, it wasn't for us. We returned, through the vines and waving barley fields & tortuous villages, to the basic municipal on the Loire. And, btw, right on the cycling route along the Loire.
Hard to remain shitty when you've screamed with joy into the wind whipping through the Loire valley as you cross the bridge - walking your bike because otherwise you'd be swept off.
Tomorrow, a 46 k round trip along the flat between here - Onzain - and Blois. With chateaux to spare.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Rainy day in Beaune, France
Started raining around 11 last night at the end of a hottish day - 26 degrees. Al & I had decided to stroll into the old town - our first night of doing other than cooking our own special veg modge with beer, wine & scrabble. (We didn't eat the scrabble tiles, btw.)
We stopped at a bar, of course, and were fortunate to meet 2 kiwi couples at the next table. They were travelling together through Europe. Very nice. Al & I threw ourselves upon them, as you do when you're starved of idiomatic conversation, except with each other. And over here, Kiwis & Aussies are kin. So good to swap stories and get recommendations of where to head next. They suggested Auxerre. Sounds like a plan.
We rescued our laundry before the thunder storm & deluge during the night. We'd strung a line from the van to the electricity box. However, we didn't have the foresight to wind the annex in. During the night it had crumpled under the weight of litres of rainwater. We shat ourselves a bit, thinking we'd wrecked it, but it was okay once the load was released. Phew. (Load of water, that is.)
Today we donned our daggy Vietnam plastic ponchos & wandered back into the old town for Sunday lunch. Very quiet on this wet day. Just a few gawping tourists. We decided to eat at a restaurant which seemed mostly patronized by French families rather than tourists.
Well, the wine was good. A 2010 dry white Savigny-de-Beaune. But the food? Merde. Al had a rare 'flank' of beef with frites. Wasn't a cut of meat I'd ever seen before. He ate it all. Probs cos his mum always made him finish his meal. I had boeuf Bourguignon with gratin des pommes de terre. Blerk. Very dark pool of baked on sauce with great lumps of cheap cuts of beef avec un peu de gristle. Overdone slightly charred on top potatoes which had spent several hours in a bain-marie.
Meh. What the hay? Cute skinny waiter reminded me of son, Pete, so we tipped him 5 euros anyway. He didn't cook the food.
Can't win them all.
Best food ever was a few days back at Hotel des Fischers in the village of Vougeot. The dining room was full of men, workers from the local vineyards I'd say. We had three courses for 13 euros each. The braised porc was the most lean, melt in the mouth sensation, with champignons & chunky frites. I finished with cheese - six different types were brought to the table &, like the greedy pig I am, I had a little of five of them. Don't think you're supposed to do that but who cares? All were soft, varied, piquant. Amazing.
Wish people would stop popping corks out of wine bottles all around the camping. Too tempting. Stuff it. I'm having one.
Salut.
We stopped at a bar, of course, and were fortunate to meet 2 kiwi couples at the next table. They were travelling together through Europe. Very nice. Al & I threw ourselves upon them, as you do when you're starved of idiomatic conversation, except with each other. And over here, Kiwis & Aussies are kin. So good to swap stories and get recommendations of where to head next. They suggested Auxerre. Sounds like a plan.
We rescued our laundry before the thunder storm & deluge during the night. We'd strung a line from the van to the electricity box. However, we didn't have the foresight to wind the annex in. During the night it had crumpled under the weight of litres of rainwater. We shat ourselves a bit, thinking we'd wrecked it, but it was okay once the load was released. Phew. (Load of water, that is.)
Today we donned our daggy Vietnam plastic ponchos & wandered back into the old town for Sunday lunch. Very quiet on this wet day. Just a few gawping tourists. We decided to eat at a restaurant which seemed mostly patronized by French families rather than tourists.
Well, the wine was good. A 2010 dry white Savigny-de-Beaune. But the food? Merde. Al had a rare 'flank' of beef with frites. Wasn't a cut of meat I'd ever seen before. He ate it all. Probs cos his mum always made him finish his meal. I had boeuf Bourguignon with gratin des pommes de terre. Blerk. Very dark pool of baked on sauce with great lumps of cheap cuts of beef avec un peu de gristle. Overdone slightly charred on top potatoes which had spent several hours in a bain-marie.
Meh. What the hay? Cute skinny waiter reminded me of son, Pete, so we tipped him 5 euros anyway. He didn't cook the food.
Can't win them all.
Best food ever was a few days back at Hotel des Fischers in the village of Vougeot. The dining room was full of men, workers from the local vineyards I'd say. We had three courses for 13 euros each. The braised porc was the most lean, melt in the mouth sensation, with champignons & chunky frites. I finished with cheese - six different types were brought to the table &, like the greedy pig I am, I had a little of five of them. Don't think you're supposed to do that but who cares? All were soft, varied, piquant. Amazing.
Wish people would stop popping corks out of wine bottles all around the camping. Too tempting. Stuff it. I'm having one.
Salut.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
We're not German, not that there's anything wrong with that.
In some part of my mind, by virtue of having started learning French aged 11 and continuing through 2 years of study at 'teachers' college', I think I'm French. When I get here, I'm all thrilled cos I'm going to speak French and partake of the culture. And when I get here, I'm completely tongue-tied for at least 48 hours.
I can usually manage to ask for an 'emplacement pour un camping car, deux personnes avec electricite, s'il vous plait' and then the person at the desk responds in rapid fire French and a little bit of wee comes out.
Went into a bar in Langres, trying to work out whether they served food, or just drinks. Couldn't remember the verb 'mangez', to eat. 'On peut ...er, er, er...' my fingers are miming up to my mouth. Perhaps he thinks I want to be sick the noise I'm making. I'm remembering 'dejeuner', to dine, but that's not the word I want. 'Mangez?' he asks. 'Bien sur!'
Somehow, I manage to order a chicken liver salad for Al. Mistook volaille - liver - for poulet - chicken. 'This isn't chicken,' Al remarked, when he got his little bowl of tiny turds sitting on a bed of lettuce. He ate it anyway and said it was good. I had a taste. Hmm. Not for me. Glad I had the grilled Langres cheese on little pieces of toast atop egg, ham, tomato, lettuce and delicious mayonnaise. Simple, but good.
Did a few hills on our cycle up to the walled town of Langres yesterday. Only rode about 10k round trip, but felt it in the old calves later. Justifies the bottle of Bordeaux in the evening.
Today, it'll be our fourth night in France. The patron at the camping told me I had a really good accent when I was booking our spot today, here in Dijon on the Lac Kir, right on a canal and cycling paths all over the place. Once again, a little bit of wee came out as I beamed with pride.
Basically, I'm Bart Simpson in that episode where he's in France and he can't speak French and then suddenly it clicks in and it's working. It's a good feeling. Glad all that French stuff got into my long term memory.
Another interesting phenomenon: we hired our 'camping car' in Germany, thus, we have German plates. The English campers don't speak to us, though they're all acknowledging their compatriots all over the shop. Can't think what that's all about.
A bientot.
I can usually manage to ask for an 'emplacement pour un camping car, deux personnes avec electricite, s'il vous plait' and then the person at the desk responds in rapid fire French and a little bit of wee comes out.
Went into a bar in Langres, trying to work out whether they served food, or just drinks. Couldn't remember the verb 'mangez', to eat. 'On peut ...er, er, er...' my fingers are miming up to my mouth. Perhaps he thinks I want to be sick the noise I'm making. I'm remembering 'dejeuner', to dine, but that's not the word I want. 'Mangez?' he asks. 'Bien sur!'
Somehow, I manage to order a chicken liver salad for Al. Mistook volaille - liver - for poulet - chicken. 'This isn't chicken,' Al remarked, when he got his little bowl of tiny turds sitting on a bed of lettuce. He ate it anyway and said it was good. I had a taste. Hmm. Not for me. Glad I had the grilled Langres cheese on little pieces of toast atop egg, ham, tomato, lettuce and delicious mayonnaise. Simple, but good.
Did a few hills on our cycle up to the walled town of Langres yesterday. Only rode about 10k round trip, but felt it in the old calves later. Justifies the bottle of Bordeaux in the evening.
Today, it'll be our fourth night in France. The patron at the camping told me I had a really good accent when I was booking our spot today, here in Dijon on the Lac Kir, right on a canal and cycling paths all over the place. Once again, a little bit of wee came out as I beamed with pride.
Basically, I'm Bart Simpson in that episode where he's in France and he can't speak French and then suddenly it clicks in and it's working. It's a good feeling. Glad all that French stuff got into my long term memory.
Another interesting phenomenon: we hired our 'camping car' in Germany, thus, we have German plates. The English campers don't speak to us, though they're all acknowledging their compatriots all over the shop. Can't think what that's all about.
A bientot.
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