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.

Rear Window

The saga continues.

We had been encouraged by our insurers to switch from attempting to find a replacement rear windscreen in Spain and move to France instead. It wouldn't take as long, we were assured. Indeed one lady from the french agency I spoke to thought it would only be 5 days or so to get the glass. She wanted to know where we were were - I said Nice, reasoning that it didn't matter if the glass got there ahead of us. We gave them all the details and hoped they'd get on with it.

A phone call this morning asked us to go to a garage in Cannes, as they had no branch in Nice, to pay the excess. "Then we will order the glass - only a few days." Grrrr. Our frustration mounted when, on arriving at the garage, the mechanic had none of our details and didn't know where he would get the glass from.

The saga is fast becoming a farce. Our rather slowly becoming one - it's been nearly a month since I broke the rear windscreen reversing into an olive tree in a Granada campsite.

* * *

Yesterday we went to Pont Du Garde outside Avignon. This impressive aqueduct was built to take spring water to Nimes, some 50km away, and has stood straddling the Gardon river for nearly 2,000 years. Amazing architects them Roman's.

Speaking of Roman's, that's where we're headed next - ROME.

We're currently on a quite little campsite somewhere between Nice and Antibes having spent the afternoon hanging out by the Turquoise waters of the Med; tomorrow we aim to make it to Pisa and then Rome the following day.

Ciao for now.

Baptised in the brine

It takes a supreme effort of will, determination and mind over matter to submerge your warm, mammalian body in cold water, but I'm proud to report Theo and I have both done the deed. As it happens, I managed a short dip in the Atlantic in Biarritz last month - in fact, that's exactly what it was. I dipped my body in, almost got swallowed up by the crunching undertow, kicked in slightly panicked fashion to escape the brutal offshore current and just about managed to extricate myself intact. The whole experience was somewhere between exhilarating and terrifying - and the water felt only a few degrees above freezing.
The Mediterranean has supplied a much more mellow swimming experience, although the water temperature is most kindly described as "refreshing". Most of the Spanish wouldn't countenance going into the sea as early as May - but we are made of sterner stuff and have been in two days running. It must be the Celtic blood flowing in our veins. It also helps if there's a pleasant, wood-honed beach bar nearby with reviving hot drinks to help get the circulation going again. And in a real emergency, it also sells spirits. Added to that it's run by Jasmina's mum, Myriam, a very friendly English-speaker and has a stack of British glossy magazines on the counter to flick through while your husband is playing backgammon with a friend (Andy - we persuaded him into the sea with us, but I'm not sure he was all that grateful). We're going back there tonight for a barbeque. With drumming.