We enjoyed last nights barbecue, us and eighteen French. The accordion player who wasn't sure if we were English or American, played songs mostly for us, which peeved the French who wanted traditional tunes. It was a little like 'name that tune'. Yes that's Abba, Yellow Submarine, that'll be the Beatles. Now again he missed a note, and when he insisted on singing seemed to forget the words. It, was a little like being on the film set of the 1980's sit com 'Allo Allo'. We were expecting Rene Artois to appear at any moment. All that aside we enjoyed the evening, Angela especially. A large paper cup of decent red wine for a euro. Of course she had a second. At ten though we made our way back to our little eco lodge, dropping a tip into the accordion players hat. He really had entertained us, and we'd enjoyed the food and being part of French life. It had made a memorable last night. But neither us slept well conscious we must be up and away very early. Angela was awake long before the alarm went off at 5 am. We'd packed our bags the night before, so it was just a case of sorting out the few items we'd needed during the night and this morning. We even had time to buy coffee from the vending machine in 'Le bungalow', to accompany a quick bite to eat. At six we were on our way. The roads were quiet and a little over ten minutes later we arrived at the railway station, glad we'd decided to take a test run to it yesterday afternoon. Our first train of the day, taking us to La Rochelle thankfully arrived on time as we only had ten minutes to connect with the TGV which was already waiting on another platform as we arrived. We found the lift, which was out of order. Helpful. So John had to carry the bikes fully laden down the stairs and back up onto the other platform. We were fuelled by adrenalin, the connection with the Paris train linked the whole days travelling. We couldn't miss it. With a few minutes to spare we were safely onboard with the bikes and bags sharing a carriage at the front end of the train with two other people.
It was like being in first class after the cramped uncomfortable train travel we'd experienced travelling from Avingon to Bordeaux. It was still dark and as the train sped along the tracks in the gloom, we could pick out the lights of villages and towns.
Then just before eight the sun began to rise. The views through the train windows were spectacular, it felt like a really special moment. Just after twelve we arrived in Paris at Montparnasse station, with an hour and twenty minutes to cycle to St. Lazare station, almost four miles away. The roads were wet from earlier rain, but we had plenty of time. This was our third time cycling through Paris in the last eighteen months, and as always it was dangerous.
This time we made time to stop and take photographs before launching ourselves back onto the cycle way. French cyclists do not abide by rules. No giving way, stopping at red lights, cycling on the right and they travel as fast as they can, especially the electric bikes. Angela did not want an accident to occur and shouted continuously at the French as they cycled towards and across her. Unscathed we arrived at St. Lazare station in enough time to buy a much needed filled baguette to refuel us. Whilst waiting in the queue we spoke with an American couple who owned a boat in Paris. They recommend we cycle in the Netherlands. Not just because it was flat but also because the cycle lanes were totally separate from the vehicles. Other people have also suggest the Netherlands are worth a visit, so we may give it some thought.
Three hours fifteen minutes later we'd completed the last of our three rail journeys and arrived at Cherbourg. The weather was miserable. Overcast with rain threatening. We couldn't believe just over eight hours before we'd been in south west France, where even early this morning it was warm enough to wear shorts. With three hours of time to kill, Angela left John in the waiting room at the station with the bikes whilst she made one last visit to a French supermarket. Oh how she'd miss the wonderful produce in them, but not the slow procession through the check-outs. The bottle of Christmas Bordeaux bought along with eight pots of apple compote, two demi-baguettes, brie, two slices of apple tart, a bottle of soft drink and an all important bar of mint chocolate we cycled down to the ferry terminal to sit in yet another waiting area.
We were so, so sad to be leaving, thankful in a way the sun wasn't shining.
As the ferry slipped its moorings we didn't go outside and look back as we normally do. A meal eaten and wine drunk, by seven o' clock we just wanted to crash out and were not sorry when the boat arrived in Poole. The weather was horrendous, rain lashed down. So before disembarking we donned our wet weather clothing. A kindly port official told us to cycle to the front of the queue to passport control. Sorry vehicle drivers, dry, cosy and warm in there are you? Ten fifteen, (eleven fifteen to us, as we were still on French time), we arrived home. We'd been travelling for sixteen and a half hours. Mad. Had today really happened?
We'll probably stay home for the weekend now before setting off down the west country in Marge for a few days. Our trip to France had been fun and eventful. Angela is almost mended, just her left hand and a small place on her knee to heal. The hospital bill for the first hospital she attended was awaiting us. Around £135.00. Just over £17.00 for the ambulance. Bargain. Our head is full of ideas for future travelling, which excites us. 'So much world, so little time'. Tomorrow would have been Angela's father's one hundredth birthday. The clocks ticking, so leave your sofas, pack up your car, van, caravan, pack a rucksack, book a flight or load up you bike and set off. You won't regret it.
