Days 5 to 10. Carcassonne to Ventimiglia

Day 5

I really wish the sleep in the hotel at EUR 65 would have been value for money, unfortunately the cusp of a cold I had and still have at going to press makes sleep patchy. Nevermind all is good still and I'm still having a ruddy good time.

We scheduled ourselves to catch the 12:56 train from Carcassonne on Sunday 8th April. This gave us time for breakfast and another walk around the big castle thingy. The weather held out as far as rain was concerned until arrival at the Gare to catch the train to Narbonne, which turned out to be a coach replacement. I am pretty strong in my determination not to ask Parlez vous Anglais, and try to start all conversations in French out of respect for the fact that the French are defensive about their language. Also I have that traveller / tourist distinction that I don't want to this the whole world is out to change its ways because I want to go on holiday. In any event if they can speak English and are frustrated by my poor French then they can switch over and we can converse in English guilt free. The trick I found at the station in Carcassonne is to ask questions which only need a yes or no answer.  The prochain autobus to
ok us to Narbonne where we picked up a train to Montpellier. The campsite was theoretically 1.5 hours walk away from central Montpellier. However, frustration at not being able to find the road starting the directions led me storming to a taxi rank and paying EUR 25 to take us to the campsite. The Montpellier campsite was remote from anything and even more so on a Sunday. Luckily we met a Canadian couple who camped next to us and joined us for dinner and beers at the campsite restaurant. They are taking in a car moreless the same journey we are so we may meet up with them again. The following day, Monday they said they were off to Arles as we were. However, despite our shameless hints, repeating twice that we were going that way in the morning the offer of a lift never materialised.

Day 6 - Arles

celebrating something in Arles

We said goodbye to the Canadians, good luck and bon voyage. We left our tent for the journey into Montpellier and onto Arles. The walk from the only tram stop I could see on my googlemaps was a fair walk and with that and the tram in the journey took 2 hours. We caught a noon train to Arles and found a wonderful place there. The whole town was out in celebration of something. A fairground was erected and every town square was filled with table of wine bottles and the only noticable item on the menu, Paella. I'm thinking this was some sort of Spanish appreciation day, with a town square performing latino music with salsa-esque dancing to it. Other highlights beyond the southern european type dining, was a Roman amphitheatre of impressive size. My untrained eye says it has little interference from modern plaster and concrete, but I could be wrong. However, boo-hiss its modern use seems mostly for bullfighting. No we didn't get lost and cross the Franco-Spanish border.

What did I dislike? It seemed that being British (wearing a superman t-shirt) left me pegged as whenever I sat down I'd only want to drink and not eat. This was ofcourse true in this case, while I resent to prejudice. They probably have learnt well not to sell Brits beer less they start singing racist songs, throwing tables and reminding the French of how much they owe Britain from the war. A nasty little-englander trait of which my thirst was the innocent victim. In the end a seat was found and a cool glass of stella and red wine for the lady led us to relax and people watch. Including watching a table of French, singing, drinking wine, shouting at strangers, and saying 'Ole' repetitively, convinced the 19th time was funnier than the 18th. Leads me to conclude, no matter where you were born, drunks are wankers. Just not so much injury or involvement of police as the Brits. We left Arles about 6pm and made way back to Montpellier. Tired and hungry an Italian salad did nothing to refresh. By now we had worked out the tram system for the following day, and we made our way back to the stop which would only mean a 45 minute walk to the campsite from the last stop. This was ok as although tired the walk from Jacou to the campsite through vineyards as the sunset was simply wonderful and I guess what France is all about for me.

Day 7 - Marseilles

waiting for the train at Marseilles Gare

We noticed the weather and our original plans which would have left us in a rainy Cannes at 7pm at night were swapped for hotel in Marseilles. So train from Montpellier to Avignon to Marseilles. On arrival I was a little amazed by this port town, even though the weather would restrict my viewing. We found the hotel we booked online that morning, then took a trot round a rainy windy Marseilles. Tired by the rain we gather lunch and a small Cotes du Rhone and spent the evening in the hotel.

Day - 8

Whenever a day is spent doing nothing of productivity you try and compensate with one the following day. However, the only thing we could think to do was the laundry. We found ourselves a laundrette and with help of broken French and good miming, a kind and patient lady helped us gather soap and how to operate the machines. The weather was less rainy but still cold, we took a bracing walk along the harbour before returning to our rotating clothes. Oh the simple joys of clean socks and pants and a semi responsible shirt to wear to Monte Carlo tomorrow. We caught the train to Cannes at 2:30pm, and this is where I am now typing away looking like I have a report deadline to finish. Then again, looking at my hair and crumpled shirt, employed is something I look far from.
Cannes is a sunny place for rich bitches, and my first taste of the snobbery that usually accompanies wealth occured within 30 mins of alighting at Cannes Gare. Struggling to find our bearings, I approached a lovely looking couple and asked with poor pronunciation "ou est le stade". She noticed I was English obviously and despite my attempt at French she snapped "sorry we don't speak English". Confused and snapping at eachother we managed to find a bus which took us practically to the door step of our campsite. What a friendly and down to earth campsite too. As always we sought to feed ourselves, and we found another supermarche, and some more cheese and some more wine. Spying a 2009 Cote Du Rhone for only EUR3.11 I snapped it off the shelf as if it were the last one. I sometimes see it on special in Asda for £6. Somehow wine and cheese tastes so special when watching a French sun go down. That night we went to bed with the sun.

Day - 9 Monte Carlo

Which gets sunk first when the revolution comes?

This was one of my highlights a day trip to Monte Carlo. I know with Easyjet I feel ashamed everytime I say "I've always wanted to see" applied to a place in Europe. Anyway I always wanted to see this mega rich principality. The sun was out and it sprayed the place with colour. The colour mostly being white of course from all the yaughts. We first made our way to the Casino, ribbing Sarah that I would convert the EUR 200 in my pocket into 4 chips to make us a million. Stupid talk, noone gets in with out a tie. The outside had three types of people. The rich, those serving the rich (chauffers wiping down Bentleys and door staff), those photographing the rich. It was here my socialist awakened, and for one I didnt feel coy about snapping away like I do at people in developing nations. I happily snapped and treated them like the animals in the zoo the rich are. How the world has become enveloped in such poverty and there is still so much money to waste. Unfortunately, I am one of the very few in the world who has not been brain washed by the lie that is capitalism, therefore I am probably the only one reading this blog who is angry at wealth. Then again, I snapped it and maybe gasped at it and I am contradictory. Do I want it? Really really I don't. I couldn't be so merciless. Would I want to use one of those boats for a day, have a swim in the sea? Hell yes!!  We made the train back and again another agreeable lunch thanks to French supermarche.

Day 10 - Last day in France

Day 10 or fittingly Friday 13th starts at 2:30am when the rain battered our tent senseless, with some water leaking to dampen the ends of our sleeping bags. Sarah's worse than mine.  I needed to pee, but I couldnt go out so suppressed it. My main concern was that it continued into the morning and I had to pack the tent with the driving rain. This was a concern as the rain continued for at least 4 hours. However, come 8am the rain stopped and I lept upon the chance to pack up then. Sarah feels she has a cold starting, and as I possibly gave her mine (which is fading) or she caught one in her own right, who knows. However, she is not liking the idea of camping anymore and I am not going to fight her if she wants the spend the rest of our Euro-vacation in a warm bed. We have slept 6 nights under canvass so far which is a monetary saving of perhaps EUR360.

Coffee'd up we caught the 10:11am train to Ventimiglia just inside Italy. I've had a fantastic time in France. I continue to adore the place and the people, even if often they are rude and snappy. The transport system is easy to understand even without knowledge of basic French. Its relatively on time, although arrivals times seem a little ambitious at times. The cost of things are great. Grabbing a few things at a supermarche will set you back at least EUR 10. The same would cost about £6 in Britain. Then again if you add wine to that basket the price tips in favour of the French. I think wholeheartedly that should you come to France, do not do it on a tour. Immerse yourself amongst the French. The old addage that if it works in France it probably won't work anywhere else is true and so interesting to watch. Germany is supposed to be the efficient country, but so is France. My 10 days here which has taken me from Paris to other big cities of Lyon and Marseilles, and viewed the variety of countryside. On the Cote d Azur look to your right from the train and see the turquoise sea, look to your right and see the snow capped mountaIns. Everything looks, tastes and smells better in France. Why has France been voted 4 years on the trot as the nicest country to live in? Take a look and its freaking obvious.