Friday, 30 June 2017 to Thursday, 6 July 2017
Today was as perfect as a day could be… But I digress way too early… It was our last planned full one-day road trip before we had to return our car to its rightful owner on Monday. The weather was a pleasant 25°C as we headed north out of Marseille, and so it would remain for the rest of the day, very comfortable.

Our first stop was at Ansouis, a lovely little hilltop town where we walked along its little streets to get a feel for the place. We got a good feel. We visited an exhibition by the artist Yvon Bonnaffoux who just happened to be in town, and we saw some amazing oil paintings of the Provence countryside. This guy sure has talent!

We would have loved to have spent more time in Ansouis but, we had places to go… people to see… quite literally, but more about that later.

Our next stop was La Motte d’Aigues, I just had to see it one more time. As I have blogged previously, my forebear, Pierre Joubert, 24 at the time, fled from his home here in La Motte d’Aigues in France as did many French Huguenots at the time due to religious persecution, the Catholics were killing off the Protestants in their religious war. Never could, never will understand “religious war”, shouldn’t that be an oxymoron?

Anyways, Pierre arrived in Rotterdam from where he sailed, on 20 March 1688, on a ship called the Berg China and arrived at Table Bay in South Africa on 4 August 1688. He was married to a Susanne Reyne, aged 20, who unfortunately seems to have passed away on the voyage and later married Isabeau Richarde, also aged 20 soon thereafter. This link contains a few interesting titbits about Pierre Joubert, written by author Kenn Joubert, who was born in South Africa but now resides in Canada.

It seems like Pierre was a busy boy when he arrived in SA, as you will soon find out. Many farms in the Cape and especially Franschhoek (French corner) still bear their original French names as baptised by their French Huguenot owners more than 300 years ago. Amongst these is a well known wine farm by the name of La Motte. Its web site proclaim its “…French heritage, not the least of which is its name, derived from the village La Motte d’Aigues in the south-eastern part of Provence”.

It further states that “The first French owner was French Huguenot and wine-farmer, Pierre Joubert, one of the Huguenots who hid a Bible inside a bread loaf when fleeing Provence. He was La Motte’s second owner and arrived in Table Bay in 1688 aboard the ship Berg China (the fifth ship that left the Netherlands with French Refugees on board). Joubert settled on the first piece of land allocated to him in October 1694, La Provence in the Franschhoek Valley while, from 1709 until 1741, he used La Motte, at that stage merely a bushy landscape, as a home for his cattle.”

So now I know where to stake my claim… but, I’ll settle for a couple of boxes of La Motte wine though.

So today we were back in La Motte d’Aigues and I was determined to find the street named after the Joubert, or Jaubert clan. Last time I was here I came up short and I was not to be browbeaten. The first stop was at the town’s map from where we pinpointed exactly how to get to Rue Jaubert. And would you believe, we actually found it! I was about to give up when I noticed a faded stone street sign at the end of an alley, and there it was, “Rue Jaubert”, faintly carved in stone.

A short way out of town we came upon a little artisan boulangerie, come greengrocer, come cheese shop. We stopped; we were in dire need of a snack. We bought a fresh baguette and could not decide which cheese would go best with it. We went with the suggestion by the lovely lady  attendant, Morgan, and went for a soft goat’s cheese, covered in a thin veil of fine black pepper. Man, was that good! We had a running brunch in the car and soon enough found ourselves in Lourmarin.

And it just happened to be market day. It was early afternoon and the market was just starting to pack itself away, but what a lovely place this turned out to be. We walked among the leafy streets checking out the substantial array of high quality goods on sale, from lace to satin to clothes and hardware to garden furniture to olive tapenade and other foods and vegetables. Fortunately we have just had a snack else we could easily have lost ourselves in food and drink here.

A short way further up from the market we found the main town centre where all the restaurants and high-end little shops are located, doing brisk business. This area was now abuzz, everyone that went to the market seems to now be congregated at the ample restaurants here. There was an eclectic crowd, a good mix of locals, expats and tourists; we wished we could linger longer.

 

But, alas, we had to move one, we had places to go… people to see… and so we headed out oor berge en dale (over mountains and valleys). While snaking along on a beautiful green winding mountain road, in fact, right at the top of the mountain, we came upon one of those famed lavender fields of Provence, a powder purple haze amongst the greens, just beautiful.

 

Our next stop was Roussillon which we found perched atop an ochre hilltop, noted for its large ochre deposits found in the clay surrounding the village, a glorious sight for my by now tired eyes. After taking a stroll up to view the ochre coloured hills and also through the lovely old town, we were ready to head out to Gordes, which was our final stop for the day.

 

It was around 16:30 when we entered Gordes, looking for familiar faces. We had arranged to meet up with Olivier, who is French and Katè, who is Thai, who you may remember were our landlords in that wonderful apartment we stayed at in Chiang Rai, Thailand. And how great it was to see these two again, wonderful memories of our stay in Chiang Rai came flooding back.

I needed to park the car and parking in these small towns overrun by tourist can be either non-existent or exorbitantly priced. Olivier filled the passenger seat and directed me to the parking area where attendants take many Euros from tourists. As we approached I was ordered “Don’t talk… only Olivier talk”. Olivier, being a local from down the road, obviously don’t pay for parking and after a quick chat with the friendly attendant we were waved through, the many Euro fee was of course also waved.

We took a stroll around town catching up on the last eight months since we’ve seen each other. I wanted to buy them a drink but they refused, they would not let me pay tourist prices, so we headed out to their house for a drink and a snack.

Olivier had rented out his lovely stone house with its beautiful pool in an idyllic mountain setting with wonderful views towards the mountains in the distance. A German couple rents their place every year at this time when he and Katè take up accommodation in one of the other buildings on the property, open air and Thai style, it gets hot here in the summer, so this is ideal.

Olivier and Katè stays in France for six months of the year and in October, when winter starts showing its colours, they migrate to Thailand for six months. This year they will be taking side trips to Vietnam and South Korea… wow, these two know how to live the good life.

And would you believe, Olivier had a Chang for me, my long lost favourite son from Thailand, it was a welcome reunion. After a Chang and a bottle of cold crispy dry white wine it was time for supper at the local and closest restaurant some 5km away. The food was mediocre, the company was amazing, we had a marvellous time chatting away into the night. It was getting deep dark when we headed out back to Marseille; it was already after 22:00.

As I said, today was as perfect as a day could be…

Saturday we slept in having gotten home just in time to see the night at its midpoint. It was early afternoon when we went for a walk into town, past Vieux Port and ended up at the Galeries Lafayette department store, I was still in search for replacement plakkas (sandals) after my blowout a while back. Today we were actually in search of a shop where we saw some potential plakka replacements a few days back but somehow we lost this store, couldn’t find it again… Stupide, huh? Lafayette offered much but not much in terms of plakkas.

We turned left into a street and when Adri saw how steep it went up the hill she couldn’t resist, she had to bloody well go up there, now wouldn’t she. Up and up we walked until we came upon the end of the road and the start of an even steeper set of multicoloured steps. And course we had to go up there too. And just as well we did. It lead to an area called Cours Julien, also referred to as Marseille’s artist’s quarter, located right in the city’s centre. This turned out to be a lovely area with many pubs and restaurants and art shops and music shops and such.

From there we walked down the other side and on to La Canebière Street and that’s when we found the chaussure (shoe) shop we lost. Uhm, but not exactly, it was the same shop but a different branch. After kicking of my shoes and fitting on, oh maybe 30 pairs, I came away empty-footed, none of those could replace my dearly departed plakkas. The search continues.

On the way home we stopped off at the fresh produce market for some fruit. Amongst others we again bought some cherries of which we would have to throw about a third away, it was, shall we say, overripe. Lesson learned; bag your own stuff, these cherries were handpicked by the stall owner, shall we say, he did his very own cherry-picking.

I wanted to watch the Lions/Sunwolves rugby match but the internet did not allow me such indulgences. I once again had to revert back to the old days, listening to the rugby on RSG via the Tunein Radio app. This was a rather pleasant experience as it took me back many years, before television arrived in SA, when my dad and I would religiously listen to the rugby in my room every Saturday afternoon while the sun was streaming in though the window on those cold Highveld winter afternoons. Those were such pleasant days and memories.

And I also remember, after the rugby, there was a program called “Uitspan op die Hollandse werf” (Relaxing in the Dutch backyard) where they played a variety of boeremusiek (farmer’s music), which I didn’t especially enjoy then, neither now, but my dad loved to, so I tolerated it.

Adri discovered that all the museums in France have free admission every first Sunday of every month, and today just happened to be the first Sunday of this month. With a spring in our step we jumped into the car and drove up to the Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde, perched upon its hill overlooking all of Marseille, seemingly guarding over it.

Up and up we went until we finally found the parking lot right next t to the dame. Before entering the cathedral we tried our luck with the museum, but our luck ran out early, this was a private museum and not part of the gratuit deal. We weren’t so keen to see the museum anyways, we were here for the cathedral and its views. The cathedral is great, but what makes it exquisite is its position, with unobstructed views in all directions across Marseille, just amazing!

From there we drove to the northern part of Vieux Port and to the Musée des civilisations de l’Europe et de la Méditerranée (Museum of European and Mediterranean Civilisations) and of course there we got a free ride. This museum is all about the story of civilization and specifically in the Mediterranean and the greater Europe.

The one exhibition hall that grabbed my attention was the wastes of the world, the plastics and the cardboard and the scrap metal and the like. The amount of waste produced by the world’s population on a daily basis is staggering. Where does it all go; is there still place left for it to go, and if so, for how long? Towards the end of the exhibition it shows some waste management companies that are doing what they can with our rubbish, but certainly we need to do more else we will be buried under our own rubble before too long.

From there we walked across the road to the Cathédrale La Major, a marvellous structure in stone. This specific cathedral is huge and one thing that struck me was the intricate patterns on the floor, which was created with the tiniest of mosaic. There must be several million mosaic pieces that make up that floor and to think that each one was carefully selected and laid by hand.

 

A few blocks further up we entered the La Vieille Charité which is a former almshouse for the poor, now functioning as a museum and cultural centre, situated in the heart of the old Panier quarter of Marseille. It was constructed between 1671 and 1749 in the Baroque style and comprises four ranges of arcaded galleries in three storeys surrounding a space with a central chapel surmounted by an ovoid dome. As part of the cultural centre it houses a number of art exhibitions. Amongst others there were exhibition halls of African, South American and Egyptian art.

As we entered the first exhibition the lady requested to see our tickets. But… but… I started but she explained that even though today it was gratuit, we still needed a ticket. So off we went to the ticket office where we were duly handed our ticket which read “Zero Euro”, I kid you not. And would you believe, each exhibition we entered our tickets were scrutinized… not sure but maybe there’s a reason for this behaviour… just maybe.

 

Adri had another museum on her shopping list but it was now past 16:00 and she was tired, I was thirsty. Didier had recommended we go to a little seaside village called Carry-le-Rouet, about 30 km up the coast from Marseille. We were not disappointed and got comfortable with espresso and beer at a restaurant across from the port under some big old green and leafy trees. Ah, this was life.

 

From there we took the coastal road all the way back to Marseille, it was 19:00 when we found our last parking for the Panda, for tomorrow our Panda party will be coming to an end when we hand her over to the authorities in Montpellier.

Back at home, with a brannas and Coke by my side, I started blogging out on the patio; the wind had all but died with only a soft breeze evident on the skin. A blind guy walked past with his white walking stick, click-click-clicking on the pavement, left-right, left-right. It always amazes me how these people get around seemingly without a hassle and at ease, simply just amazing. He got to the corner and seamlessly slipped around it with the click-click-clicking getting fainter and fainter until it disappeared.

It was Monday and we reluctantly had to return our rented Panda to Hertz in Montpellier. We had the option of returning it in Marseille but of course we had one last trip to do, which we took in our stride towards Montpellier.

We got an early start, headed north out of Marseille on the highway and soon enough diverted onto a thin sliver of a road, into the Camargue, western Europe’s largest river delta. It is a vast plain comprising large brine lagoons or étangs, cut off from the sea by sandbars and encircled by reed-covered marshes. These are in turn surrounded by a large cultivated area. This is also the region where the famous white Camarguais horses come from. These horses are ridden by the gardians (cowboys of sorts), who rear the region’s cattle for fighting bulls for export to Spain.

We stopped off in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, walked along the beach where we had our padkos (food for the road), watched families walk the early morning promenade, and watched a man come by on his bike with a breakfast baguette in the basket at the back of that bike, whistling a tune unfamiliar to me, but enchanting.

 

 

We then walked the weekly market where it seems wine is fine at nine in the morn on market day.

 

 

 

 

We left for the final stretch of our month-long rented car trip heading back to Montpellier. We returned the car without issue and I must admit that I was rather pleased with the service we got from Hertz. I used to use Avis quite often in the past but the fact that its website does not allow one to book a monthly rental online disqualifies it from my list.

We walked around Montpellier for one last time, saying goodbye to all the places we had come to know. It was around 16:30 when we headed to the bus station. We could have taken the train or taxi or Blablacar or whatever back to Marseille, but we wanted to give Flixbus a try. They have an extensive bus network across Europe and we wanted to check them out for future reference. And we were not disappointed. The online booking was done without fuss, the bus was comfortable with plenty of legroom, a toilet, it even had free wifi onboard. We will certainly use them again.

Tonight, in a strange sense, we missed going around, block after block, looking for parking… there was no more Panda to park, we already missed our wheels.

Tuesday we spent catching our collective breaths, we just read and relaxed all day. Marie came around early evening with further documents we required for Maladie, she has been an absolute star in getting all the right information and documents to us. Everybody should have a landlady like Marie!

Wednesday’s breakfast was baguette, Brie and Maasdam cheeses, fried onions and egg, prosciutto as well as thick slices of tomato drifting in a bed of olive oil… Yes, heaven!

Later on, as we collected our few required items from Carrefour we noticed the self check-out counter and decided to give it a try. How wrong can things go with such few items, and of course I was right. The most important step in this process is of course the first one; select the Union Jack icon, and then c’est simple.

You are asked whether you have a bag and then requested to place it on the scale. You then proceed to scan…scan…scan…scan…, we only had four items. Then you select the payment method which in my case was credit card, I inserted the card, supplied the code and when you receive the message Code Bon, you’re good to go. C’est simple!

It’s always good to receive good news and today would be no different. You may remember that, from a post a few weeks back, we had to have our birth certificates translated into French. Marie suggested that we use a company called Alphatrad and although they were not cheap it was well worth spending the extra Euros for such professionalism. Queries were answered promptly and properly, deadlines were met 100%, they were a true pleasure to deal with. We had received the PDF version of the documents on Tuesday by email as was promised and the good news this morning was that the physical documents had arrived at their local office in Marseille, from Paris.

 

After picking up the documents at their offices just past Vieux Port, we took a stroll along the lovely Rue de la République to the high-end shopping mall called Les Terrasses du Port. On the way we went in here and there, still searching for my plakkas, but finding none. We did find a nice denim type shirt for me but decided to pick it up on our way back home. And of course the shop was closed when we wandered back.

Les Terrasses du Port is a wonderful shopping experience, very upmarket, reminds one of Sandton City, just better. And even here one could not miss the soldes (sales) signs that seem to be on in every shop throughout France. And mind you, these sales are genuine, discounts varying between 10% and 90%! It’s hard to say no to such good deals.

We got home empty-handed and tired but we immediately pencilled in another meeting with Les Terrasses for next week, we only saw one of their several shopping levels.

You will remember that I included a true tale by Attie last week about his run-in, so to speak, with a tunnel while driving his camper van in France. Well, that was not the end of the saga, below is the second and final instalment of that major mishap! And by the way, if you’re ever in beautiful Mosselbay, please make sure you stay at Attie’s bed and breakfast at Diaz Beach Haven, you won’t be sorry!

After the mess got cleaned up, traffic flowing again, ambulance gone (nobody injured), the camper van off to a scrap yard – it left the Gendarmes (cops) and the 5 of us South Africans. As the cops were in the process of waving us good-bye, I reminded them – in my best French – that we no longer had transport. I persuaded them to take us to the nearest car hire outfit. Yes, all 5 of us in the back seat of the cop car, with the 2 cops in the prize seats – in the front. Well, it was a Saturday in the middle of summer at about 14h00 and every damn car hire outlet was closed, until we found one almost an hour later – what a relief.

 As the cops waved us good-bye once more, I reminded them that we had no accommodation in Nice, obviously, as our next planned overnight was in Italy. And so they led the convoy of 2 cars to find accommodation in a district that was fully booked for the holiday season. When we got to the 3rd resort some 15km inland, we eventually found accommodation. This time I allowed the cops to continue their very productive patrol, and we settled into a lovely chalet, with pool, restaurant and bar of course – for 3 nights. Reason being, that the car was strictly temporary – to find our feet again and to recover after the fright.

 During the 3 days I phoned the camper van’s insurance company (Eurocar) in Munich Germany, who responded that they will get us to the Nice Gare (railway station) en route back to Frankfurt. I then shared with them that they don’t understand, as we were going to continue the trip by car – and not by train. All arranged, I then proceeded to the Nice Airport to collect my next hired car as they were not keen to provide me with a camper van – I struggled to understand why. Next day I found the scrap yard and transferred all our belongings (including a bicycle) into our airport final car, with just enough space, as I was by myself. We planned to continue our holiday trip the following day towards Italy.

 It became obvious that we would not be able to fit all the camper van belongings into the 7-seater Opel, plus the 5 of us. We then decided to apply some Africa magic and removed the 2 back seats, leaving 5 seats for us. We then transferred the extra 2 seats to the roof of the vehicle and tied it down tightly with some rope. We felt so at home… heh heh heh. The remainder of our trip went as planned over the next 5 days, and it only rained once. So as we glided into Frankfurt the 2 seats on the top were already dry. I washed and cleaned the Opel upon our arrival at home, where after I took the shiny Opel to the nearest drop-off branch.

 What a stunning holiday, except that I had some explaining to do when I arrived at the camper van company, where we started from… They sued me for the cost of returning the wrecked camper van  from France to Frankfurt. The next week I engaged with a Rechtsanwald  – lawyer, specializing in accidents. He taught me, inter alia, that if a case of this nature proceeds beyond 6 months, the case gets dismissed. And so I engaged with some delaying tactics, and the case went away. A happy ending to a STUNNING HOLIDAY !

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