Nice/Grimaud

I am we'll behind on my blog dear reader (assuming there is one out there) because we have been in Grimaud in the south of France now for three days after having spent one night in Nice.

We reached Nice by train via Ventimiglia on the Italian border and the trip takes in the coastline of Monte Carlo and the playgrounds of the rich. Pretty spectacular stuff. 

Our little hotel in Nice was near the station, so once more it was pretty ordinary. It was a tiny room only big enough for the bed and one bag and the manager gave us an entry code and left us in charge of the hotel, so he doesn't care for it much either.

We met up with Mark, Libby and Angela after our day of wandering that took in the scene below. The women pay the singer and he sings them a love song. She must have been trifle deaf because he could be heard all over Nice.

We strolled along the foreshore around and then we had dinner together. It was quite surreal seeing them in this setting. We had a really good meal, the best since Istanbul I reckon and we shared some of the travel stories we had built up. It was great to see them.

The following morning we picked up our car from the station without too many hassles. Oh yeah, apart from not knowing how to start it. The complex arrangement required that you push the button that says start, so you can understand my dilemma. Once that was negotiated, the handbrake had to be released, so we called for assistance. The helpful man leant in the window and released it in the usual way. I am sure we were the source of some laughs for the team at Europcar as we drove off.

I drove out into the streets of Nice and tried to remember how this all worked on the wrong side of the road. It had been 23 years after all. I have got to admit it was stressful, but probably more so for Michele, who had to watch with no control over any of the outcomes. But, after, many a wrong turn we found our way onto the A8, heading West towards Grimaud. We slowly worked out the toll system. Basically, you just keep paying tolls over and over, but the motorway is good so C'est La Vie.

Finally we made the little village of Grimaud. It is a quaint little French village in the hills near the St Tropez coast. 

The hotel is run by a French Basil Fawlty who gives us the impression he could run a good hotel if it was not for the guests. The view is spectacular from the hotel windows, but the place is perfumed by Eau de Chien. 

Dog. 

There are two dozey, big dogs that live in all the areas of the hotel. Nothing seems to be off limits for them and there is a constant smell. Monsieur Minard has much stricter rules for the guests who have many areas that they are not allowed to frequent, including taking food into the outdoor garden and the verandah, but the dogs can go where they like.

All of the crew - Brien, Yvonne, Sean, Ian, Angela, Mark, Libby arrived safely and it was fantastic to see everyone.

Michele and I had arrived first and we were in the town having lunch, when each of the others gradually sauntered by the outdoor restaurant we were at. So eventually it was a crowd and rounds of drinks were ordered on into the late afternoon.......

Back home for a freshen up and then back to the restaurant next door for our evening meal and more beer, Rose, vin rouge, vin blanc......still I think it must have been something I ate that gave me the slightly rumbly tum........ahem. 

A funny, funny night. Everyone was in great form.

Some recovery the next morning and then a slow afternoon with some reading and the huge responsibility of finding and booking the restaurant for that evening with fellow organiser, Mark. We found one but had to employ the combined skill of the group to write a note in French (a French letter I suppose) to leave at reception because there was no one there. When I came back to check, the lovely young lady who had virtually no English, had taken the booking and we were set. 

It was another fabulous night. 

The ordering of the food and wine is always a scream as we try to make our way through the language barrier but we always get there in the end.

The next day, Wednesday, Michele and I took off for Aix en Province. It was a slow winding drive at first, so full on concentration was the order of the day, but once we were on the freeway the travel was smooth. We had some trouble getting into the city and parking but we worked it out and spent the rest of our time drifting through this lovely old city. It is typical of these ancient towns we have seen across Europe, but the French seem to have the edge with architecture. 

The buildings are designed with that little flair, there are well placed trees, fountains and the food shops look inviting. We chose one unfortunately named example to buy our takeaway lunch of baguette and coke. 

We enjoyed it anyway.

We visited a little church, Michele found a pharmacy and managed to negotiate the vending of some hair products and then we drove home. 

On our return we visited the ruins of the chateau that overlooks our village. It must have been a violent world once upon a time where every town had a fortress to keep the neighbours out. They make for spectacular scenery now of course.

Our meal was at another restaurant, St Joseph's, and the waiter was hilarious. He kept us entertained all night. The food was excellent (have not had anything else so far in France) and once more the company superb.