Explore with Fran

After our jaunt across Spain, and up through Portugal, we were finally headed across the Adriatic sea and on to the Dalmatian coast. We had read, and heard, so much about the place that we decided it was time to see what all the fuss was about.

Adios, Spain, hello, Croatia

Our 6.30am flight from Barcelona landed in Split and we were on Croatian soil. It didn’t take long to see first hand what people mean when they talk about Balkan “customer service”.

As many people boarded the airport shuttle bus they attempted to pay the driver with Euros. A big mistake. The driver yelled at the naive travellers, throwing the euro notes down in apparent disgust, “Kuna! We are in Croatia. We have the kuna, not euro.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that we had the foresight to withdraw some of the beloved kuna in the airport, as we passed through to collect our bags. It was quite amusing to see so many people have the temerity to try and pay the exasperated driver in a currency that will not become fully accepted in Croatia until January 2023. This is when Croatia finally switches over, formally, to the euro as the national currency. Until then, my advice, get your kunas before trying to board a bus in Croatia.

Transport Troubles

Waiting for transport becomes a habit whilst travelling. Waiting longer than you would expect at home becomes second nature. So, stood in the early morning sunshine, outside Spilt airport, for an airport shuttle bus that had no timetable, was to be expected.

When it did finally arrive, there was a huge queue to get on. And as we see the world over, queuing does not seem to be a thing outside of England. People rock up, and trundle their cases past the long line of people obviously waiting for the same bus they intend to get. In fact, the only bus that all of us are getting on. The first few times it happens, we stay polite. And then we learn. When the bus opens its doors, we charge ahead, with the crowd. Arms and elbows everywhere, ensuring that we get on. And get seats together.

Sweet Dreams in Split

All aboard, our drive from the airport to Split city centre was short, and some 30 minutes later we were dragging our bags past the bus station cafes, luggage storage offices, and up a slight incline towards our accommodation for the next three nights. “Sweet Dreams” apartment. Since leaving home in Perth, this was to be bed number 36, in country number 10.

What we soon discovered in all of our travels through Croatia was that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of privately owned accommodation options. From simple rooms (Sobe), to apartments with all mod cons. We even struck gold on occasion, having our own kettle and a small fridge. There were times when the kettle was communal, in the hallway, serving a number of apartments., It became a trick to listen for when the kettle had boiled and someone had their morning brew. After a couple of minutes of silence I knew the coast was clear to go and make my first coffee of the day.

Sweet Dreams apartment in Split was one of the “posh” ones. We had our own kettle. Happy days. And like all the apartments we stayed in, it was more than adequate for our needs. I wouldn’t say we were “doing it in style”, but we had everything we needed. Clean sheets. Comfortable bed. Hot shower. We were well set up for the next three nights, exploring the wonderful city of Split.

Exploring the Diocletian Palace in Split

Split is the second largest city in Croatia and dates back to the 3rd century BC and is now famous for the Roman palace built in 305AD for the emperor Diocletian. The palace has been rebuilt over the years and is now a sight to behold. Dominating the riverfront in Split, you can spend hours losing yourself in the labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys of the palace. Around every corner you will find a restaurant or bar, allowing you respite from the hordes of cruise ship passengers that get disgorged onto the streets of Split every day.

A stroll along the “riva”, or riverfront, allows you to grasp the size and scale of Diocletian’s Palace. And the setting is jaw dropping. With the sun reflecting back off the white stone, contrasting against perfectly blue skies, with the impressive mountain range behind. 

Split is the perfect size to spend two or three days exploring, which is exactly what we did. It is a place that I would highly recommend, and when you are ready to move on, the port is on your doorstep, with ferries to the nearby islands.

Down the coast to Podgora

For us, the boats would be for another day. For today, the well served bus station, across the road from the port was where we were off to. We were headed south, by bus. Wanting to see as many sides of Croatia as we could, our next week was to be spent in a small village one and half hours south of Split. Podgora was somewhere we had discovered when researching “mini holiday” options in Croatia. For the next week we would be based at the Medora Family Hotel.

Thankfully, with it being towards the end of the season, there weren’t too many families. At least families with small people that make lots of noise. We had a great hotel in a small, quiet village that seemed very popular with Germans. Chatting with Vladomir, the hotel entertainment manager, we discovered that Croatia is the number one destination for holidaying Germans.

With great weather for most of the week, we spent our days with long morning strolls along the sea, followed by lazy days on the sun loungers. Victoria even managed a dip in the sea. The village still had enough beach bars open for our late afternoon beers, before dinner in the hotel. Our deal was half board, and whilst we didn’t go hungry that week, we didn’t get to taste the best of what Croatia has to offer on the dining scene, which is some excellent food. The self serve, drink as much as you want, wine definitely helped.

I will miss the gallons of wine that we consumed that week, but all good things come to an end. We bid our farewells to Vladomir, and the Germans, and were off with our bags again. Whilst most tourists had coaches organised to take them back to Split, we dragged our wheeled bags up to the local bus stop. At least, to where we thought the local bus stop was…

On reflection, I feel that we could have maybe stayed in Portugal a little longer. As with all of this year of adventure, we don’t really know what our plans are one week to the next. And so it was with Portugal.  We did debate starting our Portuguese trip in the Algarve, and thought better of it. Travelling up from Lisbon to Porto, I had looked at Coimbra as a place to visit. It appealed. Yet, we bypassed it.

There was one country we knew we wouldn’t bypass. A country that was up near the top of our “must visit” list when we left home in Perth back in June. And perhaps we fixated on this a little too much and overlooked other towns in Portugal that we could have visited. 

That said, getting to Croatia was easier said than done. Our only route in from Porto was to have a hop in Barcelona. So, that’s what we did. Flying in to Josep Tarradellas Barcelona–El Prat Airport, we had two nights in Catalonia before heading across the Adriatic. 

Barcelona bound

Barcelona is a city I’ve visited a couple of times previously. And had great memories. Who can forget THAT night in May 1999?

“Football, bloody hell.”

This time, dare I say it, it didn’t impress as much as I’d hoped. With the benefit of reflection in the intervening couple of weeks, I’m now wondering whether this is because we had already travelled through Spain, and we had seen some beautiful towns and cities?  Compared with the orange tree lined streets of Seville, Las Ramblas just looked, well, decidedly shabby.

Travel choices

Either way, we played the tourist for a couple of days before our alarm clock woke us at 3.10am for our taxi to the airport. Travelling on a budget sharpens the senses and given a choice between a 6am flight out of the country that is a few hundred dollars cheaper than the one that flies at a more convenient time, the choice is simple. 

And so, we found ourselves, a little bleary eyed, on the early Vueling flight from Barcelona to Split. We were finally headed to Croatia. 

On departure from Barcelona, we had a plan to “get around” the 90/180 days in the Schengen region*. You see, we were leaving the EU to enter Croatia. To avoid giving away how many of our 90 days we had used up in the EU we would switch to our UK passport. 

Alas, we were foiled. The immigration officer at Barcelona looked confused as he flipped through the pages of our passport. Obviously looking for the tell-tale entry stamp, which would allow him to check we hadn’t over stayed our welcome. 

The thing was, there was no entry stamp. It was sitting in our Australian passports. 

“You have another passport?”, he barked. 

Sheepishly, we dug out our Australian passports, and he found our entry details, before heavily stamping our departure. We had used up 44 of our allocated 90 days in the 180 day period. 46 remain and thankfully Croatia is not classed in the EU, so the clock stops ticking.

For now. 

*90/180 Day Rule

As a traveller, you are permitted to travel through the EU for 90 days in a continuous 180 day period. Three months from six. For every day you are in a Schengen country, you use a day of your allowance. Once up to 90 days, you then have to leave and can not return until another 90 days have elapsed.

We got up to 44 days before we “stopped the clock” heading into Croatia. When we next re-enter a country in the Schengen region, our clock starts again and we have the remaining 46 days to use before we need to leave again.

Simple, eh?

Up next

What we hope will be a lot simpler is Croatia. Our plan is to bob around, island hopping for a few weeks, soaking up the late summer/autumn sun. Keep an eye out for the next instalment.

Up first, Lisbon

Reflecting on our Spanish adventure, it was a great few weeks. However, we needed to keep moving. Nomadic lifestyles don’t lend well to staying too long in one place. 

And so, after a super stay in Seville, we were headed to country number nine of our travels. And, in big travel news, we were taking an aeroplane for the first time since leaving the UK. We would still be in the Schengen region, as for all our trip so far in mainland Europe, there will be no customs procedures to navigate. Just disembark, grab your bags, and wander off to explore. I had frequently learned of a quirk of the Schengen region. The 90/180 day rule, but more on that in a later blog.

The ease of travelling by rail and bus

There is a great ease, and pleasure in just rocking up to a train or bus station minutes before your departure, stowing your bag, and taking your seat. I wasn’t looking forward to the rigmarole of the airport. The early arrival for bag drop. The hassle of security. Do we still take shoes off? What about belts? Oh, I can leave my electronics in the bag? When did this change? And the interminable waiting around to board. 

Seville airport at 6am was very civilised. A smooth and quick check in. A breeze through security. And an on time departure. Some one hour later, confusingly landing at the same time we took off, we had wheels down in Lisbon, Portugal. On the same time zone as the UK we had to turn our clocks back an hour. 

Lisbon

With an estimated population of just over half a million, Lisbon is the largest city, and the capital of Portugal. Situated by the Tagus river, in the south of the country, it has a storied history. One of the oldest cities in the world, Lisbon is also the second oldest European capital. Athens holds first place.

We spent four nights exploring all of what Lisbon has to offer. Which is a lot. The centre naturally draws you down to the waterfront. The huge Praço do Comércio is entered through Arco da Rua Augusta. A triumphal archway leading you into the large city square on the edge of the water. From here you can glance right and see the “25th April” bridge, mirroring the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco, even down to the exact same colour of paint it is covered in.

The famous tram 28

Heading back into the main town we jumped on the, now famous, tram 28. Still a working tram, taking locals to work and back, it has turned into one of the “must do” items on every Lisbon travellers list. The tram rumbles up through Alfama, trundling up the surprisingly hilly Lisbon, before descending back through town, and up to the neighbourhood of Barrio Alto. It is easy to see why tourists jump on the 28 and sit there, taking in much of Lisbon. 

We spent a day on the waterfront, exploring sights such as the Belem tower, the Monument to Discovery, and the Jeronimos Monastery. All before heading back to the very, very popular Time Out market. 

Marketing the markets

Much like a lot of similar markets we have seen in Europe, this is another that has been refurbished with all eyes on the tourist Euro. Locals have been priced out of these markets, sadly, as prices for beer, wine, and food are hiked well above what you expect to pay elsewhere. The market is impressive, but I left with a feeling of sadness that most people were there because they thought they “had” to visit as they had read it in a guidebook. I may sound cynical, but, this is just me, and how I feel.

Dinner off the beaten track

I prefer to eat in places where the locals eat, and this is where we found ourselves, not too far from the hotel we were staying in. Up a hill, into a local neighbourhood, we found 21 Gallas craft beer pub. A rotating tap list of 10 beers allowed for plenty of choice as we had a couple of pre-dinner drinks.

Dinner itself was a little further up the hill, in a little pizza place we found. Located in a small square, next to a bar hosting a music night, we sat and had a fabulous pizza. I also spotted a dish going out that looked like halloumi. After enquiring what it was, we ordered a portion. Brazillian cheese, grilled. Delicious.

Beaches in Lisbon

What you may not know about Lisbon is that despite being a large city, there are some excellent beaches on its doorstep. Deciding we needed some downtime after traipsing the length and breadth of Lisbon, we gave ourselves a “beach day”, heading out to Carcavelos beach. Some 30 minutes by train from Lisbon, this is a very popular beach with the locals. We had a glorious day, our towels, and our books. With food and drink options nearby we spent a very enjoyable day soaking up the sun.

In all, we had some fabulous food in Lisbon. From the octopus stew in a cataplano on the first night, to the curry that we traditionally have, everywhere we go in the world. We have had some very good ones, and Victoria declared this one as the best she has ever had. Quite a bold statement from such a curry lover.

Sintra

Day four in Lisbon saw us back at the train station, this time Rossio, as we headed out to Sintra. Classified a UNESCO World Heritage site, Sintra has to be seen to be believed. Fairytale castles dot the hills surrounding the small town. Lord Byron described it as “glorious Eden”, being just one of many visitors over the centuries to be taken in by Sintra’s charms.

Archaeological finds date Sintra back to the 5th millennium BC, but the devastating Lisbon earthquake of 1755 resulted in much of Sintra being destroyed, and subsequently rebuilt. The earthquake is something that I knew nothing of and learned that it destroyed almost the whole of Lisbon. There are estimates of 30,000 to 40,000 lives lost.

Sintra bounced back and in modern times is a place that draws in thousands of tourists a year, drawn to the palaces and castles that adorn many a postcard. It is a place I would highly recommend that you spend a few hours exploring.

And we head to Porto

Our exploring of Lisbon was done and we jumped on the metro to Gare Oriente, for our 9.30am bus to Porto, in the north of the country. Porto has been on my travel wish list for some time and I was very happy, boarding the bus, knowing that within 3 hours I would be there. Porto would bring up bed number 34 since we left home in Perth.

Who knew bed 34 would be so difficult to get to? A cursory glance on Google maps showed us where our apartment was. From the metro station, it looked like a short walk. What Google does not show you is that the “short walk” was up some very steep hills. Why did nobody warn us how hilly Porto is? Imagine how happy I was when we finally made it, only to discover our apartment was up a flight of stairs! Good grief, we were a hot and sweaty mess as we met Pedro at the apartment to check in. 

Time to explore

Bags dropped off, and cooled down a little, it was time to explore Porto. I could pretend that there were many sights I wanted to see, in no particular order, but who was I kidding? I was here for the port, and the many port cellars that proliferate around the Douro river. And it wasn’t long before I sat down, with my first tasting.

Porto, sitting on the Douro river, is known as the city of bridges, and a stroll along the water allows you to see why. The most impressive, in my opinion, is the Dom Luís I Bridge, designed by Teophile Seyrig, a former partner of Gustave Eiffel, of whom we all know. Should you be a bridge fanatic, I aren’t, you can do a river cruise, taking in all six of them.

What exactly is a Franceshina?

I was on the hunt for something else. Lunchtime was approaching and only the day before had I read of Porto’s most famous dish. A Franceshina. What exactly is a Franceshina? Well, I have now had one and still am not totally sure. It was invented by a Portuguese by the name of Daniel Silva, whilst he was living in France. Supposedly, inspired by the croque monsieur. Hmm. It is a sandwich of white loaf bread, beef, ham, sausage and cheese. It is topped off with an egg, and then it is all drenched, literally, in a strange sauce, of which it seems no one is really sure what it is. 

Most menus describe it as a beer sauce, and it is supposedly made up of beer and tomatoes as a base. Where it gets interesting for me is that each chef maintains the “secret” of their sauce, and so, it is unique from place to place. Now I knew of this famous sandwich, I saw it everywhere, I just had to try it. And the verdict? Tasty. It filled me. But that sauce? I am just not sure I would want it every day.

Pastel de Nata

What we did have every day in Portugal, and sometimes twice, were the pastel de natas. Known outside Portugal as Portuguese tarts, these mini egg custards are addictive. Even more so when they are just out of the oven. Bite size pieces of heaven. I could probably fit a whole one in my mouth, but they are best savoured, with many mini bites.

Very popular in Porto is also the “Portuguese Experience”. I had seen these in Lisbon and just had to try one. A cod fishcake, made with local cheese, and a cold white port. Oh yes, I could get used to these. If only they weren’t so expensive.

With all this food it is a good job that we are keeping up with our exercise. Exploring cities is hard work, and we often go to bed having completed more than double the recommended step count. Walking around Porto gives you the added exercise of climbing hills, getting the heart rate pumping, and making that first glass of wine taste even better.

Where to after Porto?

Porto was to be our last stop in Portugal. We had somewhere to be that had been high on the “priority list” of places to visit whilst we were away. However, we couldn’t get there directly from Porto so we will be having a mini break, back in the country we had previously just left. The mandatory masks may provide a clue. Such is the travel life, always adapting.

Ciao, and hasta luego.

New country, new travel experience

When we last spoke it was all about what a great time we had touring France and how we needed to keep moving. Not only to a new city, but to a new country. 

For today, we ditched the Bradshaw’s train guide and were experimenting with our first bus of the trip. Only recently have I discovered Flixbus. And within days of learning about them I started to see them everywhere. 

Today, we were on the 9.30am Flixbus from Bordeaux, across the Bidasoa river, which is the France-Spain border, and into San Sebastián. 

San Sebastian

There are places in the world I have always wanted to visit. At least, for as long as I remember. The feeling I had when I sat in front of the Lost City of the Incas at Machu Picchu was indescribable. I’d seen the vista on postcards for years and yearned to visit. 

San Sebastián was similar, for me. In the heart of the Basque country, with their fascinating language of incongruous X and Ts. There is also a strong Camino de Santiago connection. 

We stayed in a pension, which is a cheap guest house style of accommodation and we could not have asked for a better location. A short walk around the corner from the glorious playa de la concha, the famous stretch of beach that hugs the San Sebastian harbour. A 10 minute stroll had us in the old town, with its plethora of pinxtos bars. I would have loved a kettle to make my morning coffee, and a fridge to keep beer cold, but, you get what you pay for. 

Pinxtos (peen-chos)

The pinxtos bars need to be seen to be believed. Packed to the rafters. Most with nowhere to sit. The idea is you hustle at the bar, with the locals, pointing to the pinxtos that you want to go with your drink. Somehow, like magic, the bar staff know what you ordered when you finally come around to pay. Always at the end. And not when you order the drink, unless you want to stand out like the tourist you are.

On the surface, you may think that tapas is all you can get in San Sebastian. Far from it. I was surprised to learn that San Sebatian has more Michelin starred restaurants per square mile than anywhere else on the planet. 

A town with everything. Great beaches. Good walks. Amazing food and drink. And a local football team. This could be one of my new favourite parts of the world.

On the bus to Bilbao

Staying in the Basque country, our next stop was a quick bus ride along the coast, to Bilbao. For many years a forgotten city, lapsing into disrepair as old jobs disappeared, there was a lifeline 25 years ago. The city had the foresight to pay for a new Guggenheim museum to be built near the old docks. Creating a “destination attraction” in a similar way that the Opera House is in Sydney. And it worked. Dubbed the “Bilbao effect”, Frank Gehry’s masterpiece glistens on the Bilbao waterfront, attracting a steady 1 million visitors a year.

You won’t be surprised to hear that there is also a great food and drink scene in Bilbao. As we were still in the Basque region, we were eating pinxtos, and not tapas. The Basque region is one of those places that proudly holds onto its culture and heritage. Ensuring that the Basque language remains front and centre, everything is in both Basque, as the predominant language, and Spanish.

Heading to the Spanish capital

And it was into the Spanish heartland we were headed after our 5 days in the Basque region. Back on the bus, we had a 4 and half hour journey to Madrid ahead of us. We stocked up on pain au chocolats and water and we were off.

After San Sebastian and Bilbao, Madrid felt huge. A big, bustling city. We had 3 nights to adjust back to city life. And what better way to feel the pulse of a city than by attending a local football match. Saturday night saw us travelling out to the Wanda Metropolitana stadium to see Atletico Madrid take on Celta Vigo. 

I really enjoy going to football matches in overseas countries. Seeing how fans in different parts of the world celebrate their football team. The Atletico fans were vociferous. All through the match they maintained a great atmosphere. That the game ended with a 4:1 win obviously helped. 

After years of living in Australia I did find it strange that you could not buy beer inside the ground. Watching games at home in Australia we are used to getting a pint each and taking them to our seats to watch the action. Beers would come later, but not tonight. A 9pm kick off meant we were not back at the hotel until midnight. 

Our days in Madrid were spent strolling through the magnificent Retiro park, Madrid’s Central Park. Exploring the streets that sprawl off the main hubs of Plaza Mayor, Puerta del Sol, Plaza Santa Ana, and others. Mercado de San Miguel is one of the great markets that we have found whilst on our travels through Europe. Opening its doors over 100 years ago, the market is now a gastronomic delight. Selling, overpriced, Spanish delicacies and drinks. Sating the appetite of many hungry tourists.

We are wily travellers, and so we decamped to the Museo del Jamon, where we could stand at the bar, have a jamon sandwich, and a beer, for a fraction of the cost charged in the Mercado de San Miguel. Money saved at lunch can be spent at dinner. One of the challenges of adapting to being a traveller, rather than a tourist, is constantly being aware that our travel budget has to fund months of further travel.

The Alhambra (no, not in Bradford)

And the road was calling us again. An early start had us heading to the outskirts of Madrid, to one of the huge bus stations, and we were on the way to Granada, a place that was not in our minds originally. Sketching rough places to go, we were headed for Seville, until we remembered (or were we were alerted?) to the fact that we could go via Granada and visit the Alhambra.

How glad we are we came and saw this magnificent palace. Described as “one of the most famous monuments of Islamic architecture”, we had a good few hours touring the palace and fortress complex. Started in 1238, many years, history, and conflict have passed and I would recommend having a read of the history. I would not do it justice here in a brief travel blog.

Granada

Granada surprised me in the way that Dijon, in France, did. I was immediately taken to the city with its narrow streets and cobbled lanes that house souk style markets. Albacin, to the north of the Alhambra still maintains much of its medieval street plan and is fun just to walk around, capturing the distinctive sights and smells.

On one such walk we stumbled across the Basilica de San Juan de Dios. Oh, my. Never has the inside of a church taken my breath away quite so much. A picture won’t do it justice but I will forever remember the moment I set eyes on it.

We also struck lucky with our accommodation, staying right in the heart of the city. Our two nights were in a new style of apartment accommodation for Spain. With a digital app on your phone that becomes the key to enter the apartment, and no physical presence, they are able to keep costs down and we had probably our cheapest stay yet.

Having a beer we were introduced to the “free tapa” system, of which Granada is the heart of. Each time you order a beer, you get a free tapa. Of the waiter’s choice. When you order a second drink, the same thing happens, only the tapa increases in quality. If you find yourself making a night of it, on the beer, you won’t need to buy dinner. A very popular choice with the city’s large student population, I’m sure.

Where the streets are lined with orange trees

Mention marmalade and many people’s minds will turn to Seville. Unfortunately, the oranges on the trees right now are more green than orange, But this does not take away from the beauty of the city. Seville was our next stop after Granada. And we were here for more than marmalade.

It would be a crime, in my opinion, to visit Spain and not indulge in churros con chocolate. I believe we found the best in Seville. Bar el Comercio starts selling piping hot churros from seven thirty in the morning. We were there a little later than that and still they were creating these hot, fluffy pieces of churros heaven. The thick chocolate to dip them in would be good as a drink all by itself.

We are going to miss Spain

Seville is a whole lot more than churros and marmalade. And we saw a lot of it. From the very impressive Plaza de Espana, to the equally impressive Real Palace de Alcazar. As with all our days in Spain, we have been blown away by the beauty this country has to offer. Friendly locals, fantastic food, I will be genuinely sad leaving. Whilst travelling through I have also had a great opportunity to brush up on my rusty Spanish language skills. Whilst very, very far from fluent, I have been pleased to get by, trying to avoid speaking English at every opportunity.

We now head into Portugal, first stop, Lisbon. I better work out how to say, “two beers, please.”

Adios, chicos.

Van Gogh and Provence

I wrote this as I lay and take in the views of the cypress trees nearby. The same cypress trees that so often inspired Vincent Van Gogh during his stay in 1889.

And when I say stay, his time in the south of France weren’t his happiest moments. After a period in Arles, where his mental health declined, he admitted himself to the nearby asylum, here in St Remy de Provence. You may remember that he cut his own ear off after an argument with his friend, Gaughin. 

In the year that he was in the asylum at St Remy he produced over 150 paintings. One of his most productive periods. And one of his last. Leaving St Remy in May of 1890, he had shot and killed himself in November of the same year.

Swapping the rails for the road

We were in much better spirits as we headed by train from Dijon, via Avignon to pick up a hire car, and into Provence. This part of France is not served well by train so car was our only option. A hefty chunk from our travel budget that almost brought tears to my eyes. Seeing we had a Fiat 500 cheered me up immensely. My second time in a Fiat 500, although my first time was in one of the original, tiny cars, as I drove us both around Florence.

Victoria took the wheel today and not long after leaving Avignon we were rolling into St Remy de Provence. With a population of under 10,000, St Remy sits in the northern Alpilles, in southern France. The birthplace of Nostrodamus, St Remy is also where Princess Caroline of Monaco lived for several years with her children following the death of her second husband.

It is immediately easy to see what would draw people here. A small town of narrow cobbled streets, the sun glancing between the buildings, lighting up small piazzas of people chatting and sipping the famous Provence rose wine. Despite being a place that attracts tourists, it somehow manages to keep its rather sleepy feeling. We sat in the shade of a large tree and ordered two cold drinks.

As we had the luxury of a car we chose to stay some 10 minutes from St Remy, opting for a bed and breakfast in a converted farmhouse. We were spending two nights in the very small village of Maillane. A village of three restaurants and one wine bar. Our bed and breakfast had a small swimming pool and with the temperature in Southern France increasing, it was a welcome relief to go for a cooling dip.

Baux-de-Provence

Having the car afforded us the luxury of being able to go and explore places. One such place was Baux-de-Provence. Somewhere I did not know about and was recommended by Chris at the bed and breakfast. Ten minutes drive, a rather precarious mountainous drive, had us in Baux. And straight away, it grabs you. The dramatic landscape, towering over the village.

With a permanent population of under 400, the tourists easily outnumbered the locals. And it is easy to see what draws the tourists in. A castle that appears to merge with the mountain that it climbs out of. And a village that dates back to the Iron Ages.

A reminder about how precious life is

Chatting with the owner of the B&B, Chris, was a reminder of why we were on this trip of a lifetime. Chris is originally from Belgium, and often spent his holidays down in this part of the world. Ten years ago he suffered a life threatening illness, and spent over a year in hospital. When recovering he realised he had spent his life trying to do too much and wanted to enjoy his life more. So he packed up, moved to southern France, and bought the farmhouse that he now runs as a B&B.

Anyone for Cassoulet?

Two nights of relaxation, and eating with the locals, we were on the move again. Another place neither of us had been to. And I am still not sure I had heard of Carcassonne until recently. For those of you more familiar with it you will know how beautiful the castle and the old fortified cité is. The medieval fortress dates back to Gallo-Roman times and was restored in 1853.

Both evenings in Carcassonne were spent exploring the old city and the castle, roaming amongst the ramparts and strolling the narrow alleyways. Looking for the regional dish I discovered the cassoulet. A dish of duck confit and Toulouse sausage. It is delicious, and very popular.

I am a bit of a geek when it comes to the Camino de Santiago, and one day I know I will do a pilgrimage of my own. I was thrilled to learn that one of the routes to Santiago de Compostela, where all the walks conclude in the cathedral there, actually starts right here, in Carcassonne.

Another capital of wine?

But today, I wasn’t walking. We were dropping the Fiat 500 at Carcassonne train station, and we were destined for the wine capital of France, Bordeaux. Has anybody spotted a theme of our tour through France?

Bordeaux wines are known the world over. It was the Romans that introduced the first vines and Bordeaux has been synonymous with wine ever since. Wanting to promote French wine to the world, Napoleon III insisted on a classification at the 1855 Exposition Universelle de Paris. A classification that has remained in place since. Ranking the wines according to a chateau’s reputation, in order of “cru”, first through to fifth. 

Visiting the Medoc wine region

This, and many other interesting facts about the Bordeaux wine industry we learned on our wine tour to the Medoc region. A region that only produces red wine, we spent a half day exploring both the Château Marquis de Terme and Château Siran. The amount of rules and regulations that wine growers in Bordeaux need to adhere to are mind boggling. We learnt that vineyards are not allowed to irrigate the vines. With a dry summer like we have just had I do wonder how the vintage will turn out.

Falling in love with Bordeaux

Bordeaux is another of those cities that caught me completely by surprise. I fell in love with it. Such a beautiful river front, lined with grand mansions. Another city firmly on the Camino de Santiago. And a nightlife that seems to go for the whole day. Stumbling across square after square, all packed with people enjoying coffee, beer, wine, and plenty of great food. Our three days passed by so quick that I just wanted to press the pause button.

Time to say Au Revoir

However, in life, there is no pause button. We were heading out in the morning. And changing countries. Since leaving Australia, we now had country number eight in our sights. This would be the 28th new bed since we left Perth. I know. It is exhausting. But, I wouldn’t change a thing. 

We head to Spain tomorrow, and somewhere I have wanted to go long before I saw Anthony Bourdain visit. Without a car, or a train ticket, we were taking our first bus ride. Four hours and we will be in San Sebastian, in the Basque country is our next stop.

Au revoir, and hola!

Riding the rails

It has been suggested in some circles that I could give Michael Portillo and his Bradshaw’s guide a run for his money. With all the trains we have taken since leaving Amsterdam, I think they could be on to something. 

The trains in Europe are proving to be highly efficient, reliable, and somewhat expensive. Not the budget travel we expected. That said, we are about to embark on a different way of crossing Europe. More on that further down the track, pardon the pun. 

For today, we wrap up our fabulous few days in Epernay and again head to somewhere that neither of us has been to. And as such, a place we knew very little about. Other than they are famous for mustard. It turns out, there is a lot more to Dijon than its famous condiment. 

Some 3 hours and 25 minutes after leaving Epernay, with two train changes, we rolled into Dijon. Dijon has a population of around 125,000. A population that revels in a city centre that has been shorn of cars, become pedestrianised, and like cities all over the world, re-embraced trams. The city sits in the Burgundy region. The wine buffs amongst you may have just started to take notice, at the mention of Burgundy, one of THE wine regions of the world. 

Much of the architecture in Dijon remains as it was in mediaeval times. Times of the Dukes of Burgundy. Grand hotels (of the French type, which were in fact, large homes), large imposing buildings that now house such treasures of the Museum of Fine Arts, and the obligatory Notre Dame cathedral. It is said that scholars of mediaeval architecture make a pilgrimage to Dijon to study the immaculately kept buildings. I can see why.

The golden glow of Dijon

There is a golden glow to Dijon that is very appealing. From the tiled floor, to the buildings that crowd around the busy squares, packed with bars, and restaurants. As with everywhere we have been in France, regardless of the day of the week, the bars and restaurants are full and bustling. I read a lot about the “cost of living crisis”. A crisis that has not reached these shores, it would seem. Also golden, is one of the icons of the city, the owl that adorns the 13th century church of Notre Dame. Rubbing it with your left hand, we did, is supposed to bring luck. We are still waiting.

Trying out the local bed and breakfasts

For our accommodation, we booked our first Chambres d’Hotes. Bed and breakfasts that proliferate across France. We had three nights in a ground floor apartment of an old mansion. Our double bed was overlooked by a cadre of rather scary looking portraits. I was worried they may come to life at night.

Having fun with the language

Upon arrival at the accommodation, we were greeted by Brigitte. “Bonjour,” said I. “Je m’appelle, Fran.”

“Brigitte,” came the reply, quickly followed by a volley of French. 

“Ah, je ne parle pas français,” I said. 

Brigitte shrugged, and in another volley of French, told me she didn’t speak English. 

What followed was Brigitte checking us in, showing us around the apartment, and giving us lots of information. Nothing about the scary portraits! It was like a hurricane had just blown in. Victoria’s face was a picture. Like a rabbit in the headlights. I picked up a few words here and there. Nodded a lot. And kept saying “Oui”. What I was agreeing to I suppose we will never know. 

When we were alone we just looked at each other, and laughed. What just happened, we asked each other? 

Beaume, the real wine capital of Burgundy

Having three days in Dijon afforded us the opportunity for a day trip, so we jumped on to a train to Beaune. Described as the capital of the Burgundy wine region, (wine buff alert), it was a 30 minutes train ride away. Surrounded by villages producing some of the world’s best wines. Any Marsannay, or Meursault fans out there?

Strolling around the ramparts of the old walls I imagined what it must have been like in the prehistoric times, or as it prospered under the Romans. It probably wouldn’t have looked much different. The well preserved, fortified town is surrounded by hills that have vines clinging to them. The small town is a wonder of old cobbled streets and many squares that make a perfect place for lunch and a glass of that famous Burgundy wine.

Leaving for Lyon

Dijon and the Burgundy region proved to be a really enjoyable stay. One of our favourites so far. But like all travellers, we had to keep moving. We were heading south to Lyon. Somewhere I only knew about through the local football team, Olympique Lyonnais playing in the Champions League. 

Discovering old Lyon

And yes, there is a lot more to Lyon than their football team. We based ourselves in the presqu’ile area. The peninsular between the two rivers of the Saône and the Rhône. We had two great days that were spent exploring the city and getting lost in the old, narrow cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon, the old town. Of particular interest were the murals that Lyon has become famous for. We visited two of the most popular ones and were both blown away by how impressive they are.

Riding the funicular up Fourviere

Not far from the murals, holding a commanding position on the Fourviere hill high above Lyon is the, you guessed it, Notre Dame cathedral. One of the most impressive we have seen. Described as a wedding cake, it perches at the end of the funicular line from the old town. Wandering down the hill from the cathedral we stumbled across the Gallo-Roman ruins. Sat proudly in the centre is the amphitheatre, one of the oldest in all of Gaul. 

Time to head back to the station

Roman ruins. One of the best Notre Dames we have seen. And pizzas to rival the best of Naples were still not enough to put the brakes on our travels. As the third day dawned, we again packed up our bags, and headed to the train station. Not a station that would impress Michael Portillo but we were here for the 10.36am train to Avignon, and onwards to the Provence region.

Until the next time, santé