White Christmas - by Theo

Considering we had thought that Rosie's first Christmas would be spent with only her parents in their Madrid flat, things certainly turned out differently. Not only did she wake up to find Santa Claus had visited in the middle of the French countryside surrounded by snow, but she also ended up spending Christmas Day with her Nonna and Papi Jean...and the extended Gerdolle family as well.

Marcel and Margitte are old friends of Cathy and Jean's, and are also their landlords, therefore we've met them and their son Phillippe and his wife Silvie many, many times before. Thinking that Cathy and Jean would be on their own for Christmas, Marcel and Margitte invited them to join their family for Christmas Day, a rare honour in France, and naturally the invitation had stood even once we were added to the bill.

So, after I had traipsed through the snow for an hour with a snoozing, snow-suited Rosie slung to my chest, we headed over to Silvie's house for 12.30 aperos. Very sweetly they had bought presents for Rosie, so she now has toys that talk French as well as ones that speak English and Spanish. Sadly her parents aren't quite so trilingual, but we managed to just about communicate in a melange of French with Spanish words thrown in.

Christmas Day lunch was very different from what we would have cooked for ourselves, but still very enjoyable. While our hosts, who included Silvie's parents, her two young children and Margitte's mother, tucked into oysters, seafood salad and foie gras, we stuck to the veggie option of salad and grapefruit. Kate had made a nut roast for our main, which was delicious and even tempted a few of our French friends to try a bit as they tucked into potatoes dauphinoise, green beans and venison. Pudding was the traditional buche, a yule log essentially; their second attempt, as a magpie had stolen the first one as it chilled on the window sill!

Kate and I took Rosie out for her second sling nap - the roads being far too thick with snow for the buggy (despite the photo above), though actually it's rather lovely having our little girl snoozing so close to us - and we returned just in time for the obligatory game of belote, a whist-like card game extremely popular in these parts. I acquitted myself reasonably well I thought!

We got back in time for Rosie's bath and Christmas Day phone calls on Skype. It certainly beat being on our own.

Just in time - by Theo

We made it to France, just in time. If we'd left it a day longer to set off, or stopped overnight en route, we wouldn't have made it. The snow that has been causing such chaos in the UK has moved south and we woke this morning to find the hills around Cathy & Jean's blanketed with thick, white snow. Where they live is so rural, the roads so tiny, there wont be any snowploughs coming to clear the roads. We may have a 4x4 but we wouldn't have got through (and, if it doesn't melt, we won't be getting out). You see, after spending €94 on snow chains for Delilah Delica, I promptly left them in the hall back in Madrid. Boy do I feel stupid!
Anyway, we're very pleased we're here. We may be snowed in, but we've got lots of food, drink and wood for the fire, not to mention great company (and wi fi!) It's also extremely beautiful, and I've really enjoyed the two longs walks with Rosie in the sling and Cocky the dog so that the former could have a nap and the latter a walk. It's so quiet and still, and I've seen not a soul.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone. See you when the snow thaws!

Loafing in the Lot - by Theo

After the wonderful hospitality of different generations of the Kuhfelds in London and Kent we arrived at Dover docks at 7.15am braced for a short crossing and then a mammoth drive. Rosie, who has proved a better flier than her mother and better sailor than her father, is not the world's greatest car passenger so we dreading the long haul from Calais down to Ste Croix in the Lot valley region. However, some judicious timing, several breaks on route and Kate's tireless entertainment efforts kept our PFB generally pretty chilled when she wasn't asleep, so when we finally arrived Chez Cathy & Jean at 10.15pm we were merely frazzled and not on the edge of mental breakdown as we'd anticipated. The warm welcome and soup we were met with at our home from home went a long way to restoring us.As we were not the only visitors at Labouysse, Cathy & Jean's converted former tobacco drying house was at capacity. They had very kindly given us their double room, allowing us to be able to actually move around without tripping over various baby paraphernalia, while Kate's Aunt Frances was in the spare room we usually occupy, her cousin Erica was in the caravan that usually serves as Cathy's painting studio while our hosts themselves had set up a bed in the old oven room in one of the other buildings. Amazingly bathroom queues were at a minimum all week!I only met Frances briefly at our wedding and had never previously met Erica (who Kate last saw over 10 years ago), but they were excellent company, taking to Rosie immediately (and vice versa), politely allowing me to win at backgammon and keeping the franglish flowing over the lunchtime banquets Cathy provided. Trips to the local swimming lake as well as various friends of Cathy's with swimming pools were very much on the menu. Rosie was rather lukewarm about swimming, unlike the pools which were generally a bit cooler, though with much patience she was generally enticed in.Kate's sisters Anne-Marie and Claire were also in the area, staying with Kate's former step-dad Tim round the corner at Lebreil, so a trip round there for lunch was very much in order as was a delicious lunch (again) at fellow expats Mike and Brenda. On a slightly cooler day yesterday Claire and Mia walked round to spend the day chez Cathy and join us loafing around in Cathy's garden, eating her food and playing games. Frances and Erica have departed today, heading on to visit friends in Germany, and we are leaving tomorrow ourselves, thoroughly relaxed and fed-up (in a good way!), heading home to Madrid via San Sebastian.

Cathy's party

Beep! Beep! Beep! Suddenly the peace and quiet of another long, hot Sunday afternoon in the South of France was shattered by a string of cars and vans honking their way down the drive to Cathy's gite. Even those of us who were expecting them were pretty surprised, especially at how they'd all managed to coordinate their arrival perfectly. Cathy dashed into the kitchen saying "Oh god! what have we got to feed them" but she really shouldn't have worried, as no sooner had the cars parked when people started tumbling out bearing huge tureens of soups, trays of pizza, platters of roast meats and vegetable terrine, giant bowls of salad, breads, cheeses, pates, dips and bottles of wine, along with boxes of cutlery and crockery. Within five minutes a table for 26 adults was laid, a separate one set up for the enfants, while another was covered with drinks and snacks.

It was Kate's mother's - Cathy - 60th Birthday and she'd planned to have a quiet one. Just her, her boyfriend Jean, her two daughters and their families plus her friend Christian (who's 50th birthday was also that day) and his family. A mere 15 people for lunch, on 3 tables set out under the oak. No sweat. Jean however had other ideas and had teamed up with their friend, landlady and feast organizer extraordinaire Margitte to magic up a surprise party and feast for Cathy's french and anglo friends that lasted well into the warm summer night.

It was the perfect culmination to the two glorious weeks Kate and I had spent relaxing at Cathy's in the company of Kate's sister Becky and her four beautiful children (husband Dan joining us the friday before the party). It was a lovely, lazy time, with mornings often spent swimming at the local lake, trying out boats I'd built with the kids out of paper and plastic bottles, long 5 course lunches eaten out side, walking through the woods with their mental Breton spaniel Cocky, games of cards with Jean and their neighbour Norbert, visits to other friends and local markets, plus lots and lots of reading. It really was a shame to leave - if only the rest of our families and friends could be persuaded to move to France (preferably the Lot region) it would be ideal!

familiar France

...and relax!

Kate and I are back in the lovely Lot region, chez Cathy, for our sixth visit in 18 months. We're becoming such regulars that on a trip into the local produce market in Montcuq we were the ones stopping to say 'Bonjour' to various locals and to introduce Kate's sister and four photogenic niblings (neices and nephew). The catering, as ever, is second to none with massive al fresco lunches held in the shade under the huge oak outside Cathy and Jean's converted gite. Kate and I are kipping in Sheena, our van, as all available rooms (including an old oven) are taken, but we're very comfortable there especially as Kate had the brainwave of buying a mosquito net to keep the flies off.

Last night there was a huge thunder storm, which on the roof of the van sounded like a bunch of teenage drummers attempting to break a world volume record, but otherwise the weather has been lovely; one absolutely sweltering day, but otherwise not too hot to go walking in the woods, but still warm enough to make swimming in the local lake very pleasant. It's exactly the kind of relaxing, laid-back, fresh air holiday that we've been craving.

happy holidays!

It's Semana Santa (Holy Week aka Easter) in Spain so we're both on holiday along with the vast majority of the Spanish population! Hurrah!

Today we're going to meet up with some friends and then tomorrow we're off to France for the week, staying at our favorite luxury resort, Chez Cathy & Jean, where the full-board menu is mouth-wateringly good and the laundry facilities second to none! We'll be there for the week, then we're going to call in to San Sebastian on the Basque coast on the way back and hopefully meet a friend there.

Happy Easter!

Underground Railroad

http://www.the-fly.co.uk/words/reviews/live-reviews/3208/underground-railroad

We went up to Toulouse yesterday to see Underground Railroad a French band we know quite well; I once organised a UK tour for them. My review for The Fly is above - it was an ace show and wonderful to hang out with Raphael, Marion and JB again.

Turns out they are playing Barcelona next month - we'll probably see them there too!

The Vines

When we embarked on our travels more than 6 months ago, at the beginning of April, the landscape that greeted us here in France was full of fields dotted with brown stumps. Gradually, over the following weeks, a few touches of green appeared on them and now, as we return to France those leaves are slowly turning red and the heavy bunches of fruit are visible from the roads. They are of course the vines, and in a way they have marked our travels around Europe, a natural calendar charting the time scale of our trip.

Yesterday was my birthday, my 27th, but instead of a lazy day after 3 days of driving, we were up at 7 to take part in le vindage - grape picking. Jean-Christophe and Christiane are a little like a French version of the Larkins, except they have fewer chilren and probably pay their income tax. Their little farm about 5 minutes from Cathy's is a menagerie of donkeys, horses, chickens, ducks, patridges, pigeons and finches, while they grow sunflowers, grapes, oilseed and plums.

We and about a dozen other people - friends, family, neighbours - were helping them pick grapes for their own home-made red and rosé wines. There was no cash payment involved, just endless food and as much booze as was safe to drink while wielding a pair of secatuers. Beers were handed round the vines by way of mid-morning refreshment, while the four-course lunch was preceeded by copious potent apertifs of which Pa Larkin would have approved. Lunch itself was accompanied by the house vintage and afternoon tea (complete with pastry turned into a birthay cake for me) was washed down with sweet cider. When we were invited back for dinner (along with half the neighbourhood) and of course, more booze. Perfick!

The work itself wasn't hard - 3 hours in the warm morning sun then another one and a half in the afternoon when there were even more helpers got the job done.
Christophe stacked the crates on his forklift, emptied them into a machine to separate the grapes from the stems and got the fermentation process under way. Naturally all this was done in a very French way - everyone watching, momentarily taking charge or giving advice. Vastly entertaining for us though. All the gloom and doom in the news about the financial markets seems a world away from this rural idyll of helpful neighbours, home brew and rustic feasts. A perfick birthday.

the big send off

It was very nice of the French to arrange not one, but two, huge firework displays to mark our departure from the continent. So sweet of them! The first, at Courseilles-sur-Mer, was on the Sunday night and was preceded by some psycopathic amateur attempts by local teenagers on the beach - throwing bangers, firing mortars and rockets at odd angles, often narrowly missing each other. Seeing as the beach in question was Juno beach, stormed successfully by Canadian troops during World War II's D-Day landings there was a strange echo to such antics. Then, at about 11, the municipal offerings kicked in, firing off from the town pier over the water for a good ten minutes. It was impressive, not least because we'd only decided to come here the day before, seeking some sun after overcast Paris skies, so they didn't have much time to put the show together! Indeed, we nearly missed it ourselves, catching it only after electing to take an evening stroll along the beach after a day of lazing about reading, playing games, swimming and sun bathing.

We took the scenic route to Cherbourg and followed the coast past the other D-Day beaches of Gold, Omaha and Utah and various memorials and cemeteries. Seeing these long stretches of sand that would have provided the allied forces with no cover at all from enemy fire as they disembarked from their pontoons was a sobering moment for us both.



However, after a beer in the fishing port of Barfleur and a crepe in Cherbourg, we were more than ready to appreciate Cherbourg's firework display before we made our way to the Ferry car park to await our passage home. Our ferry back to England from Cherbourg was early on the 15th and had been booked for some time, so the port town had had plenty of warning to plan their cordite reception for us and the send-off fireworks didn't disappoint. We have grown very fond of France, and it would seem France has grown fond of us - unless we're missing something.

Vive La France!


(Note: July 14th is Bastille Day and is celebrated across France with public firework displays. Mere coincidence, of course.)

Buskers

Am I imagining it, or does Paris have a reputation for buskers? Whatever, if it doesn't, it should do. Buskers had been something of a rarity on our trip - we came across a few in Italy, including a 12 year old drummer in the Metro who was making such a huge noise on one drum we assumed it was a whole samba band, but it was only in Paris where they came out in such force and variety.

This old couple playing gypsy jazz numbers in Montmartre ranked among our favourites, but we also saw Michael Jackson impersonators, football jugglers, bad covers artists, bluesmen and those hideous Metro performers who jump on the trains armed with accordions and bad backing tracks. We hate backing tracks; we'd given some money to a pair of teenage girls in Verona solely on the strength that they weren't using a backing track and appeared to be playing their own material. There was one exception to this rule, though and it was also the most inventive bit of busking we'd seen: a Puppet Theatre on the Metro which did require backing music. It was the speed with which the stage was set up and the simplicity of the nonetheless amusing performance with very detailed home made puppets that won us over. Originally, engaging and funny. We had to applaud.

Paris day two

Our second day in Paris saw us attempting a philosophical discussion in a left bank cafe near the Hotel Les Invalides (the place where the rioters of 1789 seized the arms that allowed them to successfully storm the Bastille). But our topic, "What Is Love?" was quickly abandoned in favour of a few games of backgammon, which drew the conclusion that love is not getting too infuriated when your husband beats you all the time.

A short bus ride saw us in the well-to-do shopping district of St Germain, where we salivated in various specialist chocolate shops while picking up a few gifts for friends and family back in Blighty.

We strolled back over the Seine and checked out the Stravinsky Fountain, whose various attractions inspired by the composer are now badly in need of retouching and repair. The Michael Jackson impersonator was deservedly drawing more attention than the no doubt once splendid water features.

We took ourselves past the Pompidou Centre and found a cheapish bar (by Parisian standards, anyway) for an apero or two, then took the Metro to find a vegetarian restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet. The friendly dykes having a smoke outside the lesbian pub next door informed us it had been closed for some time.

Nothing daunted, we got back on the metro and aimed for the Indian quarter just off the Strasbourg Boulevard. We had a very tasty and well-priced three-courser (complete with free glasses of kir) in the Passage de Pondicherry, which kind of reminded us of eating in St Nicholas Market in Bristol. It's a covered arcade and is buzzing with shops and restaurants from India, Pakistan and Bangladsh, not to mention a colourful and cosmopolitan stream of passers-by.

Our next plan, to see the Trocadero Gardens illuminated by night was thwarted by them being closed, but it did afford an excellent view of the Tour Eiffel and the giant stage being set up in its shadow ready for the Celine Dion concert taking place to mark the glorious quatorze in a few days time.

Our trip back on the metro was marked by a lively puppet show by some in-carriage buskers, a welcome change from the backing-track accordianists, bad guitarists and worse singers we'd thus far endured. We chucked them a few cents by way of thanks.

One day in Paris....

Despite having a long lie in and not leaving the campsite until 12pm we managed to cram a fair bit into our first day in Paris. Buying a travel card at Porte Malliot we hopped on the metro and then wandered past the Tuillery gardens and the Louvre to the Isle de la Cite. Crossing Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge, we made it to the very centre of Paris, an island in the Seine where this great city began in 300 BC.


Paris is full of parks so we stopped off in one to eat our lunch and watch the river traffic go by, before heading on towards Notre Dame, with its twin towers, three ornate doors and massive organ (which was in the process of being cleaned as we entered - the result sounded like the intro to a song by Crippled Black Phoenix).

After wandering through the Latin Quarter - clearly the place for cheap eats and outrageous view taxes on the drinks - we made it to the Luxembourg gardens, admiring first the exhibition of Le Figaro photos (that's photos from the magazine Le Figaro) on the railings outside. All beautiful, many moving and compelling. Inside the gardens the activity of choice was clearly playing with toy sailing boats in one of the fountains; it seemed like fantastic fun. Somebody had got really ambitious and had built a huge, stately, but slow, marine creation out of rubbish - the result was somewhere between a galleon and a junk that was quickly colonised by ducks while all the little ships whizzed about in the breeze.


A metro trip later and we were in Pigalle, the red light district, before mounting the hill to Montmatre to admire the view, watch the buskers, have a drink, play some backgammon (which never fails to attract curious comments) and check the menus. We eventually plumped for a Tibetan restaurant - partly out of curiosity, partly because, as usual, veggie options were thin on the ground. It was very nice and very filling.

Finally we ended up at Champ des Mars to see the most famous Parisian landmark of all, La Tour Eiffel. It was quite beautiful, all bathed in blue light, and quite staggeringly huge. Even though I'd seen it before not all that long ago, I was still taken aback by how massive it is. There's something about the thin top and the squat frame that makes it seem so out of perspective and yet so very THERE.


It had got quite late by now, so we headed back to bed.

The coeur de Nancy

Being with someone almost every minute of every day is pretty intense, even when they're your much beloved husband. We're learning more about each other all the time, including what presses our buttons and how best to deal with the odd moment of irritation when it arises. I'm happy to report that we're as mutually besotted as ever and navigating the odd little choppy patch has been relatively easy.

But it's great to socialise with other people and step outside that little knot of dual intimacy now and again, especially while travelling. Thus, I think the highlights of our European tour so far have tended to be when we've had the chance to hang out with a few mates, whether we're meeting up with old friends or making new ones.

Which is why we had such a great time in the French Lorraine town of Nancy. It has a charming old quarter and a magnificent, newly-restored central plaza, Place Stanislas, which is decked out in white and gold. During the summer, the town also puts on a nightly son-et-lumiere in Place Stanislas, making beautiful and colourful use of the elegant frontage of the Hotel de Ville, which was transformed with clever, creative and thought-provoking projections as we watched in the square.

But what made it really special for us was seeing our old friends from the band, Crevecoeur, who all live in Nancy. Fanny and Roman have a flat right beside the Place Stanislas and with generous use of their internet facilities and a playful cat for added entertainment, we felt right at home. Best of all was the chance to catch up on what everyone was up to (CC have a new album coming out later this year, have recently completed a second successful UK tour and are planning a European tour in the Autumn) and to simply enjoy their company.

We stayed for two nights, on the first Fanny cooked us a lovely vegetarian version of the local classic, Quiche Lorraine and on the second we made them a lentil casserole with mash, for which we were joined by the other member of Creve Coeur, Luc and his girlfriend Stephanie. It was all highly convivial and we were sorry to leave them. We were also sorry to leave Roman's superb record collection, which shows a broad and excellent taste in music, we were both quite envious. Still, at least we have the new Creve Coeur album to add to our on-the-road CD collection, something to remember an excellent sojourn in Eastern France. Next stop, Paris.

Les Eurockeennes

Another country, another festival...French, this time. It was the twentieth anniversary of Les Eurockeennes, which is held on the shores of the Lake Malsaucy near the town of Belfort in the Alsace-Lorraine region of France. It was originally set up by the local council to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the French revolution, but has proved to be such an economic and publicity winner for the area, they've kept it going ever since.

You couldn't fault the location - very pretty indeed, with the Alsace Ballons framing the tree-fringed lake. The organisation was all but impeccable and although the campsite was a good twenty minutes walk (or free shuttle-bus ride) from the festival site, it had its own food and drink outlets, freely available internet access, showers, plenty of water and regularly cleaned loos.

The weather could have been better - rainy for the Thursday early arrivals and rainy all day on Sunday - but Friday and Saturday had enough sunshine to prevent a washout. Mind you, Theo and I were still pleased we had our wellies with us, although what mud we did encounter was a mere smear compared with the quagmire conditions we'd experienced at Glastonbury or WOMAD.

Ordinarily, I find press access a useful thing, aside from my radio needs, for the generally better toilets and shorter bar queues. Otherwise, I prefer to be in the festival site proper where the atmosphere is less cynical and more lively. On this occasion, there were some extra cool things about the press wristbands, including use of a shuttle boat across the lake and occasionally free glasses of wine and Champagne. And for once, I really needed somewhere to escape from the crowds.

The main problem with Eurockeennes is it doesn't have enough space on its site for the numbers. It often felt rammed and the French way of dealing with this seemed to be to form long trains and simply barge through(often smiling sweetly). By the end of Day One, I'd had enough of being buffetted by drunk twenty-somethings and was seriously considering calling it a day. However, we HAD managed to finally see Massive Attack live, something both Theo and I had shamefully never managed while in Bristol. And we met up with their current singer, Yolanda, with whom we're acquainted through her own band, Phantom Limb. She was fun and Massive Attack were excellent (apart from the lass who sang Teardrops and managed to forget the words...). What we caught of The Gossip was good, too - until the moshing got too much.



The next day was the reason we'd been attracted to Les Eurockeennes in the first place - Camille was playing. We both love her album Le Fil and were very keen to see her live. She didn't disappoint, either. We were right at the front (to avoid buffeting and thankfully, Camille's brand of chansons doesn't tend to attract the moshers) and got a commanding view of a tremendously lively performance with the only conventional instrument a grand piano and the rest of the music provided by beatboxers, harmony singers, body percussion and an all-round use of the human voice. Virtuoso stuff. They got three encores and it still didn't feel like enough.



Afterwards, I interviewed Camille and she was charming - we both sat on a little wooden jetty by the lake and did girly things like complimenting each other on our clothes, as well as the serious business of recording some soundbites.


The last day was rainy, but as we were prepared with wellies, waterproofs and buckets, we didn't mind. We both enjoyed Seasick Steve doing his doghouse blues AND rather unexpectedly, The Offspring, whom we were watching for the lack of anything else on the other stages. We caught a bit of Battles doing their post rock clever-clever thing (not really my cup of tea, but I did appreciate the musicianship involved) then headed back.

Overall, we had a fun time. Lots of people we'd never met before were willing to chat with us in a mixture of French and English and the audiences were refreshingly enthusiastic, compared with some of the more jaded crowds you find at UK shows. The music wasn't as high quality overall as at Primavera and the ambience wasn't a patch on the Rocket, but I'm glad we went. And because we were able to smuggle in our own beer, cook our own food in the van and take advantage of the free tickets with camping included, it turned out to be an exceedingly cheap weekend. You can't argue with that.

(Theo's review, by the way, is HERE)

The first rain for weeks....

... and naturally it's on the day we arrive at a festival - Les Eurockeénes!

We were the first ones on the campsite and all.

Still, we've got our awning up, we've both got wellies (mine bought en route, Kate's at Glasto last year) and we're feeling pretty smug abiout having Sheena to live in and none of this messing about with tents malarky to worry about.

Tomorrow, Massive Attack.

king of the road?

Whatever might be claimed about Portuguese driving (none of it complementary), the Italians are definitely leading the field in the psychotic driving stakes.
Inventing third lanes, tailgating, overtaking on blind bends, jumping lights, driving on the hard shoulder - child's play to an Italian. The bikers and moped riders are easily the worst - you see them watching the pedestrian crossing lights and speeding off when the red man shines, not when the lights go green. I'm amazed anyone can get insurance in Italy.

For the record the Spanish are the kings of double parking, while the French excel at stopping at junctions and roundabouts - to let out a passenger, make a delivery or just chat to a friend.

This is what happens when you let people drive on the wrong side of the road.

3 countries in one day

It had to be done; three countries in one day. We started in France, just outside Nice and after a quick swim in the gorgeous campsite swimming pool headed for Monaco.

It's a total curiosity the Principality of the Grimaldi family and I'd love to know more about how exactly they managed to preserve Monaco's independence for over 700 years. The other micro-states I can understand - Liechtenstein is geographically remote and a relic of both the Holy Roman Empire and the German Confederation; Andorra balances Spanish and French claims to sovereignty to preserve her own; San Marino is a fortified cliff and the Vatican City a religious oddity. But coastal Monaco, surrounded entirely by France has neither inaccessibility nor competing neighbours or religious primacy to protect itself. I'd love to know how they did it.

Back into France for 20 minutes, after a hair-raising climb back up to the motorway, and then, Italy.

The motorway from Nice to Genua (and beyond) plunges through tunnels and soars over viaducts as it takes a direct line through the foothills of the alps as they plunge into the sea, with tiny towns and villages hugging the terraced slopes or nestled into river valleys as they open out to the Mediterranean. Tunnels of nearly 2 kilometers in length weren't uncommon as Kate and I developed a tunnel classification system - BFT (Big Fucking Tunnel), FBFT (Fuck-off Big Fucking Tunnel), MFBFT, etc. The towering, forested slopes that loomed over the viaducts between tunnels meant the whole drive had a distinct claustrophobic feel to it.

We've found that when we first enter a country we're a bit on edge for the first day or so; we found as much in Spain and Portugal. (Equally when going back into Spain from Portugal, and back into France from Spain, was like welcoming an old friend.) Just getting used to the roadsigns, rules, opening hours, food, campsites, language and so on - it throws you off your stride for a bit. This new-country-edginess has been exacerbated by that lack of good news on the rear windscreen front and the heat. It's hot.

So, what with feeling a bit out of sorts (I was definitely at Defcon Snarky, pushing Defcon Tetchy) and it being very hot, we did the only sensible thing on our first day in Italy. We went to the beach.

We found a lovely little campsite right by the shore in Chiaveri, in Liguria. Well it didn't have much choice, as right behind the campsite ran the railway line and right behind that, mountains. We had the most spectacular view as we looked back towards the beach from the warm waters of the still lagoon. We both felt much better after that.

the potted version (just for joe)

The Ladybird Abridged Version (just for Joe).

Theo and Kate get married and then leave in their campervan Sheena. They arrive in France but it's too cold to go the beach so go to Kate's mother's instead, where they eat well and have fun.

Next they go to Spain where they drink beer and have fun. They see lots of storks but don't go to the beach. Then they go to Portugal and drink Port, ride trams and hear fado, but it's still too cold to go to the beach.

So they go back to Spain and see some Flamenco and more lovely buildings. Theo breaks Sheena's rear windscreen and then Sheena sulks and wont start; a sulky electrician fixes her. Kate and Theo go to an ace festival, meet some ace people, then an ace campsite and meet some more ace people. They finally go to the beach. They go on a big drive to another festival, which isn't quite as good but they do meet some friends so it's all ok.

They go back to France and meet more friends. They try to get Sheena's rear windscreen fixed but they can't so they go to the beach instead.

France: La Retour

We made it back to Mum and Jean's place near Montcuq just in time for aperos and to hear the news that Mum had that very day been given an unexpected job as the main English teacher in the local secondary school and was due to start the following morning. We were also greeted by their new dog, an exuberant young Breton spaniel called Cocky, whose enthusiasm at our arrival meant we were both quickly covered in muddy paw-prints, thanks also to the recent rain.

In fact, the weather was all too reminiscent of an average week in early June in the UK, ie cloudy, grey and threatening rain. We had one decent day of sunshine while we were at Mum's, made more exciting by a swarm of bees homing in on one of the trees by their house during the afternoon. Jean, already a keen beekeeper, had the swarm settled into one of his hives by the following evening.

Other than that, the three full days we spent at Mum's were mainly punctuated by eating, playing games of Belote and occasional excursions into Montcuq or Cahors (including a typically fruitless expedition to get Theo some footwear to replace his crumbling boots, but pleasingly we did find a cobbler, who mended his ailing sandals). We also got to hear many tales about inattentive and undisciplined French teenagers and their reluctance to learn and unlock the wonders of the English language. I'm sure the class I was in at fourteen wasn't that badly behaved for Miss Nettle. Thanks to her, most of us got decent exam results and picked up the ability to parle Francais with a Cornish accent.

On Friday we set off on a picturesque journey to the Languedoc-Roussilion area, where we were due to meet up with Joe and S, who were spending a few days there with friends. On the way we picked up a charming hitchhiker, a district nurse who was hoping to get to Montpellier for her weekend off. She had spent a year in London as an au pair and consequently had pretty decent English and with our passable French, between us we definitely bucked up the entente cordiale during the journey. She didn't mention whether my spoken French had a Cornish accent or not.

We had arranged to meet Joe and S at a village called Octon on the shores of Lac Saligou - Joe had said they were going to a fete there because S's sister-in-law's father (yes, a bit convoluted, I know) was supplying the beer. We arrived expecting to find the typical French three-course meal on long tables accompanied by a bit of accordion music and found instead something approaching a hippy-style knees-up, complete with a campsite full of converted trucks, barking dogs, campfires, techno and sawdust toilets. I hastily changed out of my summer dress and into jeans and sequins. Theo persuaded me not to wear my hat.

It was wonderful to catch up with Joe and S, to see her brother, Mark and sister-in-law, Jessica again (we'd met them at Joe and S's wedding last year) and to get acquainted with Jessica's dad, Eric and her grandmother, Carol. Eric had lived in France for many years and was currently setting up a brewery in Marseillan. Carol had been coming to France for four months of the year for well over a decade as she gradually did up the house she owns in Roujan. Jess and Mark, like S, are San Fransiscans.

The day after the festival we met Joe, S, Mark and Jessica at a big flea market in Marsaillan-Plage then, after a happy hour browsing the stalls (where we bought some second hand car speakers to replace the one we blew by being over-generous with the volume one day at Patty's Paradise), ate a slap up lunch at one of the town's many seafood restaurants. Luckily, they also did goat's cheese and mozarella salads, so Theo and I weren't left totally bereft by the menu.

S and Jessica were keen to do more brocante-scouring in Pezenas, so we bundled Joe and Mark in our van and took them back to Roujan. Carol let us use the shower in her house, which is absolutely beautiful, full of faux stone, trompe-loeil, genteely distressed paint finishes and tasteful furnishings.

S cooked and we were invited to stay for dinner, which was a big treat as S really knows her way round a kitchen, even when it doesn't belong to her. Theo acted as one of her sous-chefs, while Joe, Mark and I went on a mission to find some wild thyme for S's omelette recipe. It was a close-run thing, but after some false alarms involving fennel and wild-growing mint, Mark, the human thyme-hound found a goodly clump and we were able to return to the house with our foraging dignity intact.

The meal was by candlelight, owing to the power shorting out earlier in the day and nobody being able to persuade the fusebox in the next door house to untrip. It was all wonderfully atmospheric though and we even had music, thanks to S's battery-powered i-pod speaker set up. It was almost a disappointment when Carol suddenly remembered the fusebox was actually under her own stairs and one flick of the switch there had the lights all back on again.

We left close on midnight and decided not to take up an earlier invitation from some random Roujan jeunes to go to a free party 5km away, but instead park-up in a tennis club carpark in nearby Caux and get some kip. That we did more-or-less, despite some 0330 visitations from some unknown cars and an 0830 wake-up call from a family using the neighbouring playpark for some early Sunday frolics. We decided to check into an official site tonight, where you don't have to worry about random nocturnal visitations. And it is rather pleasant to have decent loos and washing facilities.

Tomorrow, we're off to Cannes. Nothing to do with the movies, it's where the epic saga of our smashed rear windscreen may finally reach a conclusion. Here's hoping.

goddq, french keyboqrds

Apologies for not blogging much recently. After the fun and frolics in Barcelona we have popped back to Cathy (Kate's mum) and Jean's house in the Lot region of France for a few days to clean up and chill out.

The excellent food, convivial atmosphere, swarming bees (quite a spectacle) and even-tempered games of cards are some of the reason's we haven't been blogging much. The other reason is the blooy french keyboard on Cathy's computer!!! Oh for qwerty! It's particularly hard for Kate who is a touch typist (I'm a two finger stabber) though the sticky 'd' and the mouse's random habit of jumping the cursor halfway back up the page affects us all!

We've had a lovely time, as usual, and are now heading towards Italy. Our rear windscreen is still unfixed - we're hoping a replacement will meet us at Nice, but I wouldn't be surprised if we turn up at Cherbourg in 5 weeks time with the hole still taped up with gaffa.

Ciao!