...and back in Britain

We left Berne on Thursday, having booked a room for the night in the outskirts of Reims.  Since we weren’t rushing to catch a train, we took the amble option, driving up through the Jura from Yverdon via Pontarlier and on to Besançon.  As far as Besançon, the scenery is very pleasant – and the road works are numerous enough for the driver to get a good look at it.  From there onwards, we did a fair number of national and departmental roads, but even on a fine day such as Thursday the scenery was flat and uninspiring, and we soon opted to switch to motorways and click up the miles a bit more quickly.  Besançon-Dijon-Reims is a good route, if you’re heading for the channel ports, since it avoids most big centres of population.  The Dijon-Reims-Calais section has come to be known as the Autoroute des Anglais.  It is not, however, one of the most scenic drives in France.  We stayed the night in a chain hotel in the retail/industrial west side of Reims: it was adequate: we’d gone for a mid-scale place, so got a decent sized room.  It didn’t look that way when we got in: the receptionist, rather than ask questions, directed us to a room with the sofa bed folded out and made up, so space was kind of tight until we folded it back to sofa configuration again.  We dined quite adequately at a Courtepaille fast food joint next door, and dispensed with breakfast next morning at €14 per man, choosing instead to have tea and biscuits from our own supplies, and to stop for a croissant a bit later.  This we did in Saint-Quentin, where we emerged from the underground car park to a serenade of bells ringing 08:30 from the roof of the town hall.  With those sounds and the appearance of the buildings round the square, I could have imagined myself in Belgium.  There is a lot of fine art nouveau and art deco architecture to see – and the square boasts a ‘beach’ of imported sand such as I’ve seen in Brussels and Mons in the summer.

The Jura bit was a nice reminder of a frequent train journey when I worked in Paris: I used to get the train from Berne that connected with the Lausanne-Paris TGV at Frasne.  It was a slow business, but worth it for the scenery – even if the wait at Frasne could be a glacial experience.  In the early days of my use of the line, it involved a change of engines and border checks at Pontarlier, but latterly they operated it with the multi-current ‘grey mouse’, a train that originally served the TEE routes, with a customs man occasionally joining the train at Neuchâtel.  One set has since been restored to its TEE livery and fittings, and there was a special service on it from Zürich to Milan while we were in Switzerland.  We enquired about the price, and made other arrangements…

We arrived back on Friday (Mr Engineer Smith’s 65^th birthday).  Although we were booked on an evening crossing, we decided we’d just turn up and see what they offered us.  Interestingly, when we looked at the Eurotunnel site the night before in Reims, it offered us a change of reservation for a £5 charge.  Turning up on spec seven hours before our scheduled booking, we were offered a crossing on the next shuttle but one, with no extra charge.  In fact, we actually got on an earlier crossing, so were at Coquelles for barely long enough to do the border checks and drive to the shuttle train.  Only four of the carriages were used in our half of the train, lower deck only: 16 vehicles all told – including a Honda people carrier registered in Ohio (its owner told me he’d found the drive rather long…) and a rather splendid early 1950s Lagonda drop-head coupé.

For no good reason, I rather hogged the driving from Reims, and in consequence was more tired on reaching Disgustedville than I need have been.  We could see from the main road that the first route into town was badly congested, and the second exit, to the notorious industrial estate was as bad, if not worse.  We finished up going on to our semi-homophonous neighbouring town and taking the winding narrow lanes.  They too were full of fellow rat-runners, which tested the sang-froid somewhat.  We got home unscathed, though. 

As usual, there was a mound of post waiting for us, much of which found its way straight to the bin.  The garden was looking pretty good thanks to Andy, who had been round to cut the grass for us while we were away.  The tomatoes have not ripened as much as I had expected, but I gather that there was dull weather and rain for much of the time we were away.  The cosmos have come into flower, adding a spot of bright colour here and there, and a few of last year’s sweet William seedlings have come into flower.  Potentilla, cistus, penstemon, hydrangea and hypericum are giving a lot of colour, as are some of the roses, notably the new one, the Justice of the Peace.

Floribunda Rose, The Justice of the Peace (Fryers Roses, Cheshire, 2011)

So, it’s back to the usual routines.  I’m scheduled in court on three days in August, and have a couple of things to organize for the car – a routine service, plus fixing a dent in the tailgate and consequent problems with the release button (one of us backed it into a wall in Lagrasse).  Not sure it’ll be possible to get that done before we head out again in four weeks’ time, but we’ll see.  It is still functioning, so it isn’t urgent.  We’ve seen one of the mallards, the female, since we returned, but guess they’ve found some other mugs to feed them!

Back in France

After driving ourselves quite hard the last few days, we've opted to leave Switzerland a day early and do the trip to Calais in two days rather than the planned one.  We opted to take the route across the Jura this time, and very pleasant it was on such a fine day.  We did a bit of the route through the Franche-Comté on secondary roads rather than motorways, partly for the want of choice and elsewhere by choice - it takes longer, but uses a lot less fuel and of course, we save the toll.  All of which will help to pay for a night in a hotel here on the outskirts of Reims. We used a couple of stretches of motorway later, since the landscape of the Champagne country is not among France's most spectacular. 

As we rumble along the French motorways, we play a sort of I-spy, looking for incongruous pairings of tractors and trailers, and indeed for trucks from unusual places.  There were a couple of trucks from Belarus on the Languedocienne, for example, and elsewhere we came across curious mixtures such as French trailer, Romanian tractor, Polish-Swedish, Czech-Austrian, Romanian-Belgian and all the rest.  It's still quite exciting to think that frontiers that were made of concrete and steel during my adolescence are now open.  But the big question is why so much of this stuff is being transported by road in the first place, given the superb rail and waterway networks round the continent.  Switzerland is pressing on with the low-level tunnels under the alps, and I hope will have the sense to tariff transit lorries on to flatbeds at an attractive price compared with fuel costs and toll charges.  It can't afford to repeat the British mistake of wrecking the railway system in favour of our now terminally constipated road 'system'.

Rant time

Over the past few days our enjoyment of the wonderful Swiss landscape and infrastructure has been dampened by two things: uncontrolled screaming and/or grizzling sprogs, and some spectacular overpricing with no compensating excellence.

Yesterday, however, we took off at a sensible hour for Flüelen at the south end of the Urnersee, the fjord-like southernmost arm of the Vierwaldstättersee (Lake Lucerne).  This really is the cradle of Switzerland where, in 1291, representatives of what are now the founding three cantons (Uri, Schwyz and Unterwalden) swore an oath of mutual protection from the Habsburg Austrians.  Once again we sailed on a centenarian paddle steamer, and paid to use the top (first-class) deck.  The experience was wonderful: the lake boasts numerous paddle steamers, and the helmsmen blow their whistles vigorously at each other when they meet.  For a time we progressed up the lake in formation with the paddle steamer Gallia, and a tiny steam dinghy steamed between us to a real cacophany of whistles.  Soon after that one of the motor lake ships did the same trick. There's something delightfully zany about Switzerland,, for all its reserve and propriety - like the hundreds of lifesize painted plastic cows scattered round the streets of Zürich a decade or so ago. 

Dampfschiff Gallia and MV Schwyz doing their Red Arrows stuff

The fact that lunch was a rip-off of no more than average quality will sour our recollection of the experience for a while.  The price suggested something a lot more special that the humdrum gschnätzlets and not-as-good-as-packet rösti.  And the Oeil de Perdrix was no better than Camplong's best pink, which costs less than 3% as much.  Well, them's the hazards of doing tourist things without bringing our own cool box, I guess.

Vierwaldstättersee at Brunnen

The experience of the lake cruise, in all other respects, was magical, and I'd do it again, specially in less hazy weather.  We tend to build in decision points on our more ambitious itineraries (I wish I could type that word right the first time!).  One such was at Luzern, where we could either beetle back to Berne, or tarry on the Brünig line and return home from Interlaken.  We went for the latter, only to be rewarded by a couple of young and indulgent parents and their two misbehaving sprogs.  We'd had another lot on the earlier train to Zug.  I've lost count of the number of times my magisterial glare has been brought into play in recent days.  Just as well, I guess, given the effectiveness thereof.  It's all part of the plot to get us to buy a first-class ticket next time, I guess. 

We had planned to have a rest day today, but decided to trade it in for a two-day amble to Calais rather than a one-day mad dash.  Our train stopped at Brienz yesterday, and that prompted us to check whether the Brienz-Rothorn Bahn was back in action.  There was a spell when trains stopped at Planalp during works further up.  So, we were on the third train of the 10:45 set (unfortunately pushed up by a diesel - but I'd rather sit in diesel trains watching steam ditto than vice versa).  Wonderful experience.

Brienzersee from Rothorn

We came down in the cable car to Sörensberg: earlier research had offered a set of seamless connections in the best Swiss manner.  Having lingered over our high-altitude schnitzels, we missed the planned departure, so had quite a long wait for a bus.  Opportunity for a mile or so's nice downhill walk in beautiful surroundings, however.  The PostAuto ride down to Schüpfheim was fun - some quite spirited driving, and lots of use of the three-tone posthorn on the bends!  Transport count: 3 trams, 3 trains, one PostAuto, one rail replacement bus, one rack railway and a cable car.  And a very pleasant walk.

Between the Rothornbahn and Sörensberg

 On the way home, our decision point was in Berne: whether to go the the new Paul Klee centre, or leave it for another year.  We decided that, with a bit of shopping in prospect and humidity levels and temperatures climbing, we'd leave that for another visit.  With a section of the railway in the Emmental out of action, we had to wait around for the replacement bus, and the train, when it arrived at Trubschachen, was very hot, so we felt it was better to head for home and cool off.

Remains for us to sit back and take stock of the last few beautiful days, and to decide which route to take and where to spend the night.  The internet (thanks to our generous hosts!) has it uses, it must be said.

Playing with the Federal Train Set

Two epic journeys under our belt now: yesterday we went and had a look at Schaffhausen, which stands in an odd bit of Switzerland on the wrong side of the Rhine, involving a train ride through a dollop of Germany with Swiss railway stations....  (We lunched in a pizzeria in a historic building that had been bombed by the Yanks in consequence of its being north of the Rhine.)  Still, beautiful place with a lot of 16th century and earlier frescoed buildings, well maintained.  From there to the Rhine falls, where they have built some new viewing platforms out over the 1000 litres per second falls - quite frightening, but one comes to rely on Swiss engineering.  Thence to Winterthur, where we paused for a shandy per man, and then on a kind of country tram through the pretty and understated Zürcher Oberland to Rapperswil to catch the boat back to Zürich.  We expected an ordinary lake motor ferry, but got the 1914 paddle steamer Rapperswil, the only steamer on the lake yesterday.  Sat on deck for schnitzel and chips, with local rosé, while the old ship laced its way back up the lake to Zürich.  Transport count: 3 trams, 7 trains, a boat and a bus, and needless to say everything connected perfectly.  It involved a lot of steps and stairs: but we are getting back in training, given the four and a half flights up to the flat.

Today's jaunt involved a modest two trams, four trains, two funiculars and one of those kitschy tourist road train jobs (in Lugano).  We did the spectacular Gotthard line - wonderful scenery and spiral tunnels: you see the church at Wassen three times as your train tacks up or down the mountain side.  It won't be the same when the low-level Gotthard tunnel comes into service, so I hope there will be some investment in the tourist potential of the old line.  Lunch in wonderfully laid-back Lugano, where it was mercifully not too hot, nor humid.  We toyed with adding a few twiddly bits on the way home from Lucerne, eg a boat ride or the rack line to Interlaken, but opted for the fast train back to Berne.

The backache and a touch of Montezuma's Revenge (both on the mend) have slowed me down a bit.  [Come to think of it, it might have been Schaffhausen's Revenge on the Allies...]  So we're setting ourselves less challenging goals tomorrow, including a couple of hours on a boat on the Lake of Lucerne.  Wednesday is set to be stormy, so we'll have our day off, to look at a museum or two in Berne, a bit of shopping, maybe, and to plan something modest for Thursday.  We need to use up the last day of our pass: Martyn thinks Berner Oberland if the weather is as forecast.

Hot

The thermometer on the dashboard was reading 32.5° as we returned from the market around 11:00 am, so I expect it'll get up over 35° this afternoon.  We've just heard on the village tannoy us that the Prefect has decreed that cars may not be washed, private swimming pools may not be filled and lawns may not be watered.  We had thought of giving the car a wash, since we're unlikely to be allowed across the Swiss frontier if we present it in its present state, which bears witness to dusty roads, swifts and house martins.  The dignity of the announcement was slightly dented by the musical accompaniment: Madame D. at the Mairie played two snippets of a brass band recording of the Marseillaise, then switched to a mawkish soprano rendering of it (recorded, not singing it herself, which would have been a lot more fun), and spoke over the singing.  Bet she wasn't standing to attention either. 

We had planned to go to the seaside today for lunch, but unfortunately the decorating and furniture shifting has taken its toll: I have one of my rare acute backaches, which isn't helped by winding bumpy roads and getting in and out of the car.  So we shall lunch on delicious melon and jambon cru at home.  We shall be stuck in the car enough in the coming days anyway. I think the back is easing a little through gentle exercise and rest.  Not sure ibuprofen and paracetamol have any effect other than the unintended nausea.  [German puts it so spectacularly well: unerwünschte Arzneimittelwirkungen.]

Social life is pleasant.  We met some other British visitors to the village while watching the rather fine fireworks show on 13 July (since there's a big show in Carcassonne on the 14th, our village does its show the night before the holiday.)  Said visitors, whom we'd met once before at Kate and John's, asked us for drinks at their place on Sunday, and we retaliated here yesterday.  The ever-increasing coincidences ever increase: not only do they live less than 15 miles from where I was brought up, but Karen even worked in BTI in the same building as I back in the late 1980s.  The evening finished with a few hands of cards: Uno, which is their daughters' favourite at the moment: great fun.  Today's apéritifs may be more restrained: we're hoping Beverly will come round, and a local Brit painter, Josef.  Probably our last socialising in the village this time: we're off on Friday.

Progress

We think we may have finished decorating, but will check with artificial light later to see whether it needs a second coat.  If so, that’s the work of 45 minutes with two of us wielding rollers.  Phew.

While the paint was drying, I called my car insurers to ask what my renewal quote would be.  A pound less than last year, but close to £80 up on a competing quote through the RAC.  Haggling brought it down by no more than a few quid, so it’s bye-bye LV, hello RAC.  And guess who underwrites the RAC offering?  Yep, a subsidiary of Liverpool Victoria.  It’s a pity one has to go through all this nonsense each year, but the phone calls cost a fraction of the savings.  I checked, by the way, whether commuting to where I practise my hobby was covered, and the call centre agent checked, finding that it brings the annual premium down by the princely sum of £1.  Let it not be said that voluntary duties are entirely unrewarded.

The birds we see and hear most of hereabouts are swifts and house martins.  It occurred to me to check their names in French: le martinet for the former and l’hirondelle de fenêtre for the latter.  Confusing.  I'll check what they call the black redstart another day.

Cautious optimism

We have done precious little other than decorating these last few days, and if you're bored of reading about it, imagine how we feel: I shall generously chunter on a bit more to help you join us on the summit of boredom!  Still, the paper is all on now, and once we've got a coat or so of emulsion on it we'll feel a bit more positive.  The (German) vinyl went on pretty well, and the odd hour spent mentally planning the process stood us in good stead.  Given the state of the walls - there isn't a single vertical line or flat plane in the room - it was inevitable that there would be a few overlaps. 

Meanwhile, I've opened negotiations with the Improvement Prevention Department, via the Mairie.  We are in the process of getting a fresh estimate for the replacement of the crumbling rendering on parts of the house, and our neighbour and I have interviewed a couple of local lads, both sons-in-law of the estate agent who sold me the house.  The Mairie seems to think that I won't be allowed to strip off the rendering and have the stones pointed, but rather it'll have to be rendered again in sand and lime.  Well, there was I thinking I'd improve the appearance of the house to match those round about.  Well, the good news is that a render might be cheaper.

The neighbour's workshop roof having to come off in part to get the scaffolding up, he's hoping to take advantage of the fact to replace some suspect sheets of corrugated material with polycarbonate.  As the builder put it, 'une pierre, deux coups'.  It's surprising how often proverbs and clichés translate more or less exactly.  I'd never have dared say - in French - 'that's really not my cup of tea'.  The French say exactly that, in just the same circumstances.  But some clichés vary subtly: if you can't see the wood for the trees, you have a French tree that hides the forest.  And the bird in the Nordic hand is worth ten on the roof.

Stand by for fascinating stories of buying white emulsion paint.

And finally...

...a coat of paint seems to be sticking to the ceiling.  Scraping off the distemper yesterday was a hellish job, but it's done, and we've decided that, but for a minimal bit of filling, we're going for the rustic look, allowing some of the history of the house to show.  Like cracks, gouges and rough fillings of the plaster.  The bad news is that the paint is rubbish (granted: a bad workman blames his tools) and we'll have to get some that nods a bit further in the direction of opacity.  But looking again just now, it isn't looking too dreadful.  We're still a few days off re-hanging the curtains, but they've had a wash in the meantime.  They are from a batch I was given in 1991 when I took over the flat in Neuilly.  They first hung in the old BT France office in the rue Daru.  They served me well throughout my expat days, hanging next in the flat on the Île de la Grande Jatte, then Brussels, then Dübendorf ZH, and now in Lagra55e.  Others hang at Forges-l'Evêque.  Given that they owed me nothing in the first place, I reckon they have become models of recycling.

We enjoyed our few days off.  With Barbara and David we did the Limoux pizza circuit on Friday, pausing on the way home at the Vaissière art materals shop in Carcassonne, and again at the Cave Coop in Camplong.  At the former I bought some canvases and colours, and a big pot of Louvre white, plus a couple of roller trays and a roller.  They take a very broad view of what constitutes painting!  At the latter we found the usual essentials, plus an export order of l'Oulibo olive oil.  We got together later on Friday for drinks and nibbles at Barbara and David's RV, which was moored for the time being at the camping up the hill from Lagra55e.  To our surprise, the camp site is very smart, and tolerably well equipped: I suddenly have a bit more respect for a neighbour who runs it (particularly since his dogs no longer bark all day, now that his mother is in residence).

Patricia and Martin treated us to a truly splendid lunch on Saturday in their back garden in Mèze, and their company was a tonic as always.  Must remember to ask what spices they used on the leg of lamb that Martin barbecued.  We and their Jack Russell terrier, Chota (whom one if not both of us would gladly kidnap), went for a stroll along the waterside after lunch  - at about 5:00pm.  We were rewarded with a couple of ends of joute (water jousting) in the harbour.  Unfortunately, it wasn't yet the turn of a rather large contestant on the red boat  to take up the lance while we were watching - had he lost and gone in, he'd have set off the tsunami alarms.

So, back to poverty and dirt: we now need to get the ceiling finished, the paper hung and emulsioned, the wardrobe rebuilt, the floor tiles scrubbed, and the furniture moved back in.  After all, we must get the place in good fettle so that, if and when we finally sell it, the government can collect on the extra capital gains tax it's reputedly planning to impose on foreign second-home owners.

Why is it that every DIY job throws up snags?  After stripping, wire-brushing, filling, sanding and washing the ceiling, I went to put on some paint and it immediately came away, together with flakes of what I guess must be distemper.  So we're going to have to spend a couple of noisy, dirty days scraping it all off.  Then no doubt filling, sanding and washing again.  We've decided to have a few days off.

Which is handy.  A former colleague of Martyn's and her husband have parked their camper up the hill from us, and spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening with us round the dining table, watching the rain and listening to the thunder.  Today looks better, so we hope to show them some favourite views up in the hills - and take them for pizzas in Limoux.  Then we're off to lunch with friends near Sète tomorrow.  Then back to decorating.  I estimate at least a further week's work, so it'll pretty much swallow up the rest of our stay here. 

Douce France, Chapter 164

Recognising that alcohol is the main cause of the endless slaughter on France’s roads, the government has enacted a curious piece of legislation.  I’d forgotten till colleague Bill emailed to remind me.  From last Sunday, it became obligatory for all vehicles to carry two unused breath test kits, and official web sites instruct drivers who have been drinking to test their blood alcohol level before they drive, and to drive only if the crystals turn green up to the red line, and not beyond.  France admittedly has a substantially lower alcohol limit than the UK – in common with most of Europe, I should add – at 0.5 grammes of alcohol per litre of blood cf. the 0.8 that Her Gracious Majesty’s legislators allow.  Issues:  (1) The policy implicitly encourages driving while outside a couple of drinks, which will already have dented one’s alertness and inhibitions at the wheel.   This may be pragmatic in the French context.  At one time, it was said that the gendarmes were only interested if they could detect a spot of gnole (spirits) on your breath: pinard (plonk) didn’t count.  (2)  We have asked for breath test kits in two shops today, and were told ‘none left’ and ‘we can’t get any’.  At another pharmacy, there was a notice on the door saying ‘Plus d’éthylotest’ (don’t trouble us by asking).  I’ve ordered mine up via the internet, and expect delivery within 72 hours.  I’m assured that the new regulations won’t be enforced until 1 November, and then sanctioned with a fine of €11. 

Will it change anything?  I hope so, but fear otherwise.  I’ve no reason to suppose that this morning’s lethal overtaking by white van men was booze-fuelled.  The more spectacular one took exception to my doing 40 mph on the winding road to Ribaute, and started overtaking a couple of hundred yards from the blind bend at the old tramway tunnel.  I read that that’s good for a fine of €135 and 3 points.  Using a mobile phone while driving is a 2-pointer here (3 points in UK) with a fine of €35 (£60 for the fixed penalty notice, typically £235-300 all told if it comes to court).  Fines are reduced by a third if paid promptly.  Interesting reading at http://www.securite-routiere.gouv.fr/IMG/pdf/081219-depliant_sanctions_cle2c593e.pdf for them wot reads French.