Saturday 28 May

The rain has eased this morning and so we make our way to what have been reported to us as the best and biggest open air markets in Paris, in the Alma.  We walk over the beautiful Pont Royale, the sight of which lifts our hearts every time.

 We can’t see the markets but cannily follow those with empty shopping trolleys, and sure enough we find them in the Avenue du President Wilson.   It is so wonderful to see what priority the French give to their fresh foods.  Can you imagine Elizabeth Street in the city being closed off every Wednesday and Saturday for markets?  I don’t think so.  Perhaps this could become an election issue?  More interesting than most of them I think.  Shall we start this game?  Barnaby could represent the tomatoes and of course Cory would have to campaign for the fruit!  These markets are indeed fabulous.  The fruit and vegetable stores

With a great line of tomatoes

 The herbs were popular

 Through the jostling crowds we found some fruit and veg we haven’t seen before including some sort of asparagus, perfectly round courgettes and flat peaches

 As well as the myriad of boulangeries, there were the anticipated fromageries, some with cheese pieces the size of a small building, or to put it another way the width of my hips, which have widened considerably since being in France

There was seafood, delis, butchers , prepared foods, and the patisseries….

 Fabulously displayed flowers, with the whitest hydrangeas you’ve ever seen

 And it didn’t stop there

Taking advantage of the break in the weather, we went from the markets to the Luxembourg Gardens, by metro.  So thrilled were we with the weather that we took a selfie to prove it, but note the ominous cloud over our shoulders

These are more beautiful gardens in Paris

and once again used by families for outings, or simply as a place to read and relax

At the lake you can hire little toy boats which are pushed off with a long stick.  The fountain in the centre keeps the water moving enough for the boats to be returned to the ‘shore’ under their own ‘steam’.  It is a delightful scene and one which I could have watched for hours.

But sightseeing was calling.  Oh, and by the way, honey, the gardens have their own apiary

We walked home, got caught in the massive thunderstorm and huge rains which had been holding off all day so took refuge in what must be the strangest shop in Paris.  Deyrolle on the Rue du Bac, not far from the Musee d’Orsay on the left bank.  Our friend Bryan had told us about this, so we were happy to step inside.  The ground floor looks like a pretty ordinary garden shop, well ordinary if you consider stuffed gazelles standing up on their hind legs and dressed as humans as ordinary.  The first floor is another story.  It is here that there are a myriad of stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes.  Lions, tigers, bison, bears, pigs…..unbelievable.

The wooden are cases full of insects, butterflies, shells and no doubt eye balls had we thought to look.  This store has been here for over 100 years, and it might not have been dusted since it opened.  Strangely unsettling, but Cherrie was thrilled to find, downstairs, a gardening bag the same as that which she bought in Beechworth years ago and loves to bits.  Needless to say a purchase was made.

The storm eased enough for us to walk home , past my kinda bottle shop

And past Hotel des Invalides, where apart from the big guns (and I am not talking the election campaign again) we saw lots and lots of rabbits grazing.  It was like Watership Down.

 We feared if we loitered we would be towed away

 

 We’re tired old girls tonight, so we buy the makings of dinner and eat in

Sunday 29 May

We’re up early this morning.  The day is drizzly but that’s not going to keep us indoors. We walk to the Musee d’Orsay and are queueing up before it opens.  Even with advance tickets, the queue is long for security.  But we are pleased to be here.   We loved this museum, originally a railway station built for the 1900 World Fair, when we were last in Paris, and this time doesn’t disappoint either.

Lots of familiar Monet’s, particularly after our recent trip to his garden

and one unfamiliar one

Gorgeous works too by no talent bums such as Calliebotte, Manet, Renoir and our old friend Degas

This one, by Cezanne, reminded us of us.  We have taken to playing gin rummy when we are at home, after dinner.  This is a hangover from when we were with Garry and Di on the boat and at Les Couges, when we played Yatzee and 500.

 In a sign of the times, there were people all over the place taking selfies

And as in the Louvre, security inside was a little less strict than out

We didn’t eat there, but the restaurant at the d’Orsay looks splendid

 Of course, the other splendid thing about the museum is the Van Gogh collection

From the d’Orsay we walked over the Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor, a pedestrian bridge across the Seine.  It, like so many other bridges in Paris, has been defaced by the ‘lovelock’ trend, whereby currently happy couples seal a padlock on a fence and throw the key away.  It looks dreadful

Paris is looking particularly misty today

We make our way to the Musee de l’Orangerie, in the Jardin Tuileries near the Place de la Concorde, which houses more impressionist and post-impressionist paintings.  Once again we queued for ages, for security reasons, but the rain had abated and so we remained dry.  The museum is set around two large oval shaped galleries which were designed by Claude Monet to create a space between the busy city life and his works.  He donated his enormous works ‘Water Lilies’ to France after WW1 and continued to work on them until his death in 1926.  There are 8 panels in all, over the two rooms, and they are really like a diorama.  Impossible to photograph but amazing to see

Two other galleries reveal the works of Renoir, Cezanne, Matisse

and an incredibly detailed tiny tiny model of the apartment of Paul Guilliaume, whose collection this is

We reckon this would be a terrific thing to do with Margaret Olley’s studio. Surely a challenge for any model maker, and an inspiration for recalcitrant teenagers.

After these two museums over a day we were, I think the expression is plum tuckered out, and we walked home for another dinner in.

Monday – Friday, 23-27 May

The week started wet and cold.  On Monday morning we headed back to the Australian Embassy and collected Cherrie’s Emergency Passport.  The weather is not kind to the   French Open which was rained out today. We did not have plans to go but we did feel for those who had.  Instead, we braved the miserable weather and walked to the Louvre, which we had booked on line early this morning, thus avoiding the queues.  It’s a great system, book and pay on line and collect the ticket at the booth near the Louvre and go straight to the priority entry.  Saves lots of time.

It never fails to impress, the Louvre.  Its size is overwhelming, although we managed to walk the whole of it but I must confess to travelling at speed through some of the displays.  The Apollo Gallery, formerly Louis IV’s sitting room, is gobsmacking.   

No wonder they revolted.

But then so is the apartment of Napoleon III.  If they hadn’t revolted by then, they surely would have

 Signe, we saw your wedding jewellery.  Belonged to Napoleon’s wife, Marie-Louise

 Mind you, Louis IV had a pleasant jewellery case of his own.   It’s pure gold

 The crowds clearly increase around some of the exhibits

 Ah, there she is

 And here’s another crowd pleaser

We were quite taken by Melpomene, but it may come as no surprise that we find big women, especially those with heads in hand, quite fetching

The views from the windows are great too

 

The precision of this hedging is immaculate

And security is taken very seriously at the Louve

On Tuesday morning we moved into our apartment, our final move before heading home next week.  We are in an absolutely delightful one bedroom in the Invalides area.  This building was originally built as home to retired soldiers from the Napoleonic Wars and is a 6 storey building on the gorgeous Rue Saint Dominique. We are on the 3^rd floor, with french (ha ha) windows opening onto the street from the sitting room, and onto an internal courtyard from the bedroom.  It is quiet and comfortable.  What a triumph.  There’s even a lift in the building which means we never have to lift a suitcase down or up a stair again this trip.  We are near the famous markets of Rue Cler and are surrounded by great restaurants, boulangeries and shops. A five minute walk to the Metro, either Invalides or La Tour Mauborg and we couldn’t be happier.  And we even see the Tower from our street!

 

Our plan is to go to Monet’s garden at Giverny tomorrow, a relatively simple metro/train and shuttle bus journey which should have us there an hour after leaving home.  But, guess what?  The trains are on strike.  Metro too.  There are major transport and fuel strikes in France which are having a massive impact on the country.  These are all about this socialist government’s labour reforms and even my left wing friends say these reforms are long overdue.  No train, no Monet’s garden.   And the weather forecast tells us that tomorrow is the only day without rain for the remainder of our time in Paris.  So, we sacrifice an arm and a leg and book a small tour, meaning a driver in a van with maximum seating of 8 will pick us up tomorrow at 1.30pm and deliver us to Monet’s garden and collect us 2.5hrs later.

Before Giverny on Wednesday we took advantage of the clear day and walked to the  Jardin Tuileries.  They are truly lovely and the little bit of sunshine brought the locals out and it was fun to see kids in the playground, and older folk reading by the lake

Even I abandoned my inhibitions for a short time

Around the gardens are pretty special too.

Once upon a time you could stand in front of the Louvre and look all the way up the Champs Elysee to the Arc de Triomphe, and beyond, with an unimpeded view.  How things have changed

Like clockwork, our driver arrived at 1.25pm and we boarded our comfortable mini van, joining Rosemary from San Diego, Nancye from Chicago and Sharon from between Canterbury and Dover (that’s as much a clue as we were given).  A drive along much of the same route that we took to Normandy last Saturday morning had us in Giverny by 2.30pm.  It was worth it

We really enjoyed this trip, and it was good for the soul

Back at the apartment by 6.30pm, we set out for dinner at a nearby restaurant which had been recommended by our classy (and pretty spunky) landlord, Pierre-Louis.  It was also right up there on TripAdvisor.  Let that be a lesson to us…it has turned into a tourist restaurant; the service was indifferent and the food lacklustre.

On Thursday we took the metro up to Montmartre.  I remembered it being a charming, bohemian and interesting area.  That was on my first trip to Paris.  In 1975.  I suppose it’s not surprising, therefore, that the area has changed?  It’s tacky and not even a bit interesting.  Although the views are good

And so is the camping apparently

It’s a long walk up to Montmartre from the Metro, and we should have had the good sense to take the funicular.  But we didn’t.  Sense seems to have evaded us.  In a clear demonstration of that, we took the funicular down.  We then kept walking down and down and down, until we reached L’Opera.  We potted around and even went into Galleries Lafayette.  It’s worth a visit just to look at the ornate, domed ceiling.  The security has lifted here, as with everywhere, with bag searches and those gun powder wands that airports use.

Dinner tonight with our friend John Berrick, Entertainment Director at Disney France at his home, a 20 minute metro ride from Paris .  And, as luck would have it, our mutual friend Will Fraser from Hong Kong was also in town and staying with John.  We were joined by another couple, old friends of John’s from Mallacoota in Victoria, John’s partner Tony and Susan Owens, a journalist who is now resident in Paris but who spent many years with the Australian Financial Review.  Susan specialises in writing for the luxury market, the largest hunk of which these days is for the Chinese.  She told us that Galleries Lafayette last year paid a commission to tour operators for the Chinese market of….sit down….€30m.  Thirty million euros in commission.  Such is the size of the Chinese tourist market to Paris.  Ouch.

John has acquired the most beautiful dog.  Lad is a Labradoodle, jet black and unbelievably well behaved.  Of course, he goes to school every day. He is collected in the morning by two carers, goes off with his packed lunch to dog day care, where he is exercised, groomed and trained.  He speaks both English and French and John was recently advised that one of Lad’s closest school friends speaks Arabic so it perhaps John could teach Lad basic Arabic too.  I think that fell on deaf ears.

Both Cherrie and I enjoyed some dog time, and are looking forward to reuniting with Beetie soon, who is miraculously still alive and in the expert care of her god mother Jeannie.

It was a great night, with lots of interesting conversation and even a few laughs!

Yesterday, Friday, we walked to and along the Champs Élysées, still a beautiful Boulevard but slightly different these days with the inclusion of McDonalds, Marks & Spencer and other ‘downmarket’ stores

 We visited the Musee Jacquemart-Andre, created from the private home of an avid art collecting couple, Edouard Andre and Nelie Jacquemart, in the late 1800’s. It’s a beautiful house

 

 And the current exhibition is that of the Impressionists whilst in Normandy:  Turner, Monet, Degas, Boudin, Renoir, Pissaro, Gaugin etc.  We only took two photos before being sternly asked by the bag searching, gun powder scanning, rifle wearing security guards to desist.  Uncharacteristically, I acquiesced immediately.

 

A walk all the way home, and then the discovery of a wonderful restaurant only steps from the apartment.  Yum.  Five more sleeps before boarding the plane home.  Hope the strikes don’t get us!

21 & 22 May

 With our unexpected extra days in Paris, due to us leaving the Dordogne before originally planned, we decided to do a two day one night tour to Normandy and Brittany.  We particularly wanted to see Mont Saint Michel and San Malo, and we researched doing this ourselves, but the trains are still on strike so it’s just not possible. We did consider renting a car and driving out of Paris but very quickly came to our senses.  So we did the unthinkable and booked a tour with Paris Vision.  We were collected from our hotel at 6.25am on Saturday and driven to the headquarters in Les Pyramides.  Here we were corralled into yards and processed to the correct tour.  There were five tours leaving at that hour, all to different parts of France!  45 minutes later we were positioned in the 55 seater bus wearing headsets.  I had become one of the group tourists I have mocked for 60 years.  And I was not happy about it, but was at least seated next to my beloved and the seats were actually very comfortable.

There were two guides on board, CC for the Spanish and French commentary and Jean-Christof for the English.  His English was just a little better than my French, which admittedly has improved to almost 15 words now but I still consider a career as a tour guide unachievable at this time.  Added to his poor language skills, his accent was incredibly strong, slighting any hope of comprehension. It became evident very quickly that all the English speakers on the bus, oops coach, and that was the vast (and I mean vast) majority, felt the same way.  It also became quickly evident that CC’s English was excellent but J-C was the boss and she was only allowed to utter French and Spanish.  As we sped our way to Normandy’s capital, Rouen, J-C prattled on about who knows what whilst his group, one by one, mentally switched off and commenced their chatter.  What did provide great mirth, however, was his confusion between his right and left.  As he pointed something out on the right, he would point to the left. Of course, we were not sure what we were looking at, or why, because he was unintelligible.

We reached Rouen after two hours and were required to follow J-C, who cunningly held a furled fold up umbrella high so we wouldn’t miss him.  We had no idea where he was taking us or what he was saying, although we did glean that this was the city where Joan of Arc was tried for heresy and burned at the stake.  Cherrie and I escaped the group, as did others, and made our own way around town, which gave me time to open my pop up salon

The cathedral is pretty spectacular

 

and the market place and cobblestone streets lovely

 After 90 minutes our disparate group reassembled at the bus, sorry coach, and headed off to Hornfleur on the mouth of the Seine, where it meets the English Channel.  Once again we broke free and wandered yet another lovely 16^th Century town

We chose a waterside café for lunch where Cherrie had the district speciality, sea snails.  Silly girl.  Firstly she had to prize these rubbery creatures from their shells and then had to chew on them.  Which was no mean feat.  Like eating the sole of a Nike she said.  I’m not sure she had ever actually eaten the sole of a Nike but she has now.  I declined her offer to try one as I waded through a bowl of tiny and tasteless mussels.  All in all, not a good luncheon choice but this is the home of Calvados and I did enjoy a mug of cider!

Back on board, we are whisked to the D-Day beaches of Normandy which J-C reminded us happened on ‘6 June 19 and 4 and 4’.  First to Omaha Beach, the most heavily defended.  My recall of history, well my recall of anything really, these days is pretty poor and I wish I had known more about this invasion.  But, the beach is long and the cliffs high and an awful lot of Americans died.  It no doubt was a moving experience for the Americans on board our bus, sorry coach.  A sculpture at the beach, by a Frenchman, signifies the wings of hope and eternity and the rise to freedom.

 Next up was the American Cemetery at Colleville, quite near the beaches and on a plot of land which is officially American territory.

Then we went to a little village in the heart of the D-Day beaches, Arromanches-les-Bains and to a beach which had something to do with Winston Churchill but we didn’t have a clue what because those two words were the only two we understood.  Fortunately, the couple sitting in front of us on the bu-coach are from Frankston and he is obviously a keen amateur military historian, and filled in the gaps.  We were looking at the artificial port, which was the brainchild of Churchill, and consisted of huge floating concrete landing wharves, which were installed immediately after the 6 June 19 and 4 and 4 and allowed the unloading of massive land infrastructure, like troops, vehicles and supplies.  An amazing thing really.  Good old Winston.

 A popular grey nomad spot too

 This has been a long day.  At 7pm we are delivered to the very basic Novotel at Caen, conveniently positioned right on the motorway, and ordered to be at dinner at 7.45pm.  We were, and this is where we met some of our fellow travellers.  We were at a table of 8 with Ann and Louis from Omaha Nebraska, MJ and Crews from somewhere in America and Casey and David from wherever Warren Buffett lives (that’s all they needed to say apparently).  Personally, I couldn’t give a toss about where Warren lives.  Casey and David are a young couple on their honeymoon, he is a pilot with a small regional airline and has an interview with Delta on 6 June.  MJ (she) and Crews (he) are also on their honeymoon, second time around for both, and coincidentally they and the other honeymooners were married on the same day.  MJ is lovely, about our age and interesting.  She sold her head hunting business some years ago and spent 6 years on a yacht with one other person, which included 9 months circumnavigating Australia.  Her favourite place was NZ.  We liked MJ and Crews very much.  Ann and Louis have been married for 30 years, were childhood sweethearts and married at 19.  They clearly considered themselves the most interesting people at the table by a long shot.  He is CEO of a small healthcare company and she is an actuary.  They love Donald Trump because he says what he thinks and they agree that social security is a waste of money and that everyone should just get off their bums and work.  If, or when, Trump becomes President it will all be ok because the US has a really great system of checks and balances.  So no worries, folks.

Orders were to be at breakfast at 7am and we had to sit in the same place.  It is quite beyond Jean-Christof to count heads if they are in different seats.  Just to be recalcitrant, Cherrie and I swapped seats.

We set off at 7.45am in rain and moved from Normandy to Brittany.  We made a photo stop at Cockeye, the oyster capital of France

 In fact the brochure told us it was Cancale, but Jean-Christof only knows it as the home of the famous Cockeyed oysters.  He loves the town of Cockeye.  He also proudly showed us houses on the right, by which time we knew to turn to the left, where the owners love to skate on the roofs.  The skate is locally mined.  Needless to say, the roofs were slate.

Saint Malo, 50% of the reason we were on this tour, was up next.  It is a walled port city and once again we cut loose (as did most of the party) as soon as we could, and gave ourselves the local tour.  J-C had announced that we had 2 hours in this city and that we needed to be back at the bus by 12 and 30 o’clock this morning.  He gets a little confused with morning and afternoon.    The rain had pretty much passed and we were able to get around without umbrellas.

 

 For lunch I had the local speciality, the ‘galette bretonne’ a savoury crepe made with buckwheat flour.  Mine was leek and scallop and absolutely delicious.

Back to the bus 12 hours earlier than instructed and off to the other half of the reason for the tour, Mont San Michel.

By now everyone had given up on Jean-Christof, and we were grateful to find a potted history on the island.  It is thought to date back to 708 when the local Bishop had the sanctuary built in honour of the Archangel and it soon became a major focus of pilgrimage.  The Benedictines settled in the abbey in the 10^th century and it became an impregnable stronghold during the 100 year’s war.  It’s now a UNESO World Heritage Site and pretty amazing.  A bloody big climb to the top, too, a challenge for any knees but one which mine met.  Just.  Mrs Frankston, wife of our military historian, was extremely excited because this is where ‘In The Name of the Rose’ was shot.  It wasn’t, actually, but who were we to destroy her illusions?

Our orders to be back at the bus by 4.30 this morning were obeyed and we were once again corralled into two groups – those who were continuing on for another two days to do the Chateaux of the Loire, with Jean-Christof poor buggers, and those of us who were returning to Paris.  We were, of course, in the latter group and were moved to a double decker bus with far less comfortable seating, and driven five hours back to Paris.  A quick 7pm stop at a fuel station for supplies, mostly consisting of pre-packaged sandwiches and packets of chips, revealed long queues for fuel and we learned that the refinery workers were also on strike, along with the rail staff.  Our sandwich sustained us until our 9.30pm arrival in Paris and a taxi transfer back to the hotel.  750km clocked up over two days.

Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and others have sung about their love of Paris in the Springtime, all thanks of course to Cole Porter.  Although this spring Paris is cold and wet.  Our puffer jackets came back out of hibernation for our first two days in Paris.  On Thursday we first made our way to the Australian Embassy where Cherrie applied for an emergency passport. Our taxi driver wove in and out of the traffic and defied every road rule known to man. Well, most men, but clearly not Frenchmen.  They are crazier than the Italians behind the wheel, I swear it.  I wonder what it must be like for a Parisian taxi driver to take a cab in Sydney?  I’m sure the order and speed, or lack thereof, would alarm him and quite ruin his holiday.  He surely would want to take the wheel and throw some (more) chaos into the streets of Sydney.

Getting a new passport is all routine for the Embassy, passports are stolen or lost all the time, and it was an efficient process.  We met a couple whose passports were stolen from their AirBnB apartment in Bordeaux, in a break in, and another couple who were pick pocketed on the metro.  She had their passports in a small shoulder bag which sat tightly against her hip.  Passports and cash gone, and she didn’t feel a thing.  We are now extremely possessive of our bags and clutch them as if they were new born babies.  The new passport will be ready for collection on Monday.  That’s a weight off Cherrie’s shoulders.

The Embassy is situated in an unremarkable curved building but very close to the Eiffel Tower so in a very impressive position.

We walked all the way back, along the Seine, umbrellas up most of the time.  This is a city built for walking so it is no impediment to do so.  Even in the rain the architecture and design of the city is beautiful and remains a feast for the eyes, no matter how often one visits.  Which is actually not very often.  So we walked 15km back to our hotel in the Latin Quarter, and we took all day to do it.  We stopped to take photos along the way, and of course we had lunch.  Who’da thought it?

Police cars and sirens everywhere

pushing their way through the traffic in such a way that we thought they were reacting to the Egyptian Air plane going down, as reported this morning.  There were so many of them, including an astonishing vehicle which looked like a futuristic army tank or something from outer space.  Cherrie says she saw these vehicles in Peru in 1979 where they were used to clear riots by spraying tear gas.  She knows, because she and her friend Vix were fired on by one.  And you thought Cherrie was such a law abiding citizen.

We walked past the most wonderful vertical garden designed by Patrick Blanc which is part of the Musee Quai Branly

 and we thought we might visit the Musee d’Orsay, one of our favourites in the world, but the crowds put us right off. We need to book in advance for these museums.  But I couldn’t resist the temptation to take a photo of this, which might remind you of me – an enormous pig as well as a bore

On the Seine we saw a barge which we reckon our very own Captain Gaz could steer through the most challenging of locks

 Friday was still wet and cold, but undeterred we put on our rain gear  and headed off for a day of walking.  First to Notre Dame

where we noticed these tourists trying to get in the back door, as it were

The Cardinal’s vegetable garden was being prepared

but at the front door he had so many visitors that we decided to leave him alone, and we kept walking around the Île de la Cité, where we also saw a wonderful plant exhibition encouraging, and educating, Parisians to re-green their environment by planting in small areas

Pavement art is still alive and well in this city and we thought this one was particularly timely as a message to the Turnbull government

 Our walk took us to the Pompidou Centre where we spent a few hours marvelling at the collection.  The special exhibition was works by Paul Klee, ‘L’Ironie a l’Oeuvre’ (The Irony is the Work) which frankly made as much sense as the title, but it did show the incredible breadth of his work

Great views from the Pompidou too

 

 We walked back through the Marais district and loved these flower markets.  The colours of those hydrangeas!

And, Mrs Mac, look at these peonies

The sirens were in evidence all day today, too, and we think that this is just part of Paris life now, and not in response to any particular major threat.  There’s lots of uniformed officers on the streets, army as well as police, evident with their big guns.   Other changes we have noticed in Paris since our last visit are the enormous ferris wheel on the Place de la Concorde, and the lack of glamour on the streets.  Once the locals, of both gender, were dressed beautifully but these days we feel much more at home, even in Vera’s rain hat.

Tata for now.

Bergerac and Bloody Bloody Trains

Our departure from Les Couges has been delayed by the man returning the dishwasher, which he took away for repairs last week.  But we finally return the car in Bergerac and check into our funny little hotel for a night.  We want to spend a day in this city before leaving regional France for the big smoke.  We eat our sandwiches, made while dishwasher reinstalled, overlooking the town square and then walk around.  As expected, another beautiful French city.

 

 We wondered at the price of that……..

And went down to the ever glorious Dordogne River.

Dinner at L’Imparfait, where we had our rushed lunch with Di and Garry recently,   gave us great service but a disappointing choice of dishes.  A significantly more limited menu than that of the luncheon one, but good food nonetheless.  Back in our room, the only means of privacy from the street, is an electric roll-a-door.  Cherrie comments that she has never slept in a car port before.

We get to the railway station 40 minutes prior to our departure for the first train to Libourne where we then change for the direct train to Paris, which gets us in at 3.30pm.  But nothing in France is easy and the trains have proven to be very unreliable.  Our train is cancelled, due to a strike.  We are offered a seat on a bus, departing here in a little under three hours, to Bordeaux where we are then offered a second class ticket (meaning nowhere to put luggage) five hours later to Paris, arriving at midnight.  We indicate that this is completely unacceptable to us and beg for an alternative.  “Ah, oui, madame”….”Tomorrow”  she says, but no guarantee that the trains will be running tomorrow.  We are offered a refund on our first class tickets with the offer to find our own way to Paris.  After much banter, we are left with no choice but to accept the first offer.  So we sit on the wooden bench in Gare Bergerac to wait 2 ½ hours for our bus to Bordeaux.  Because we have a large suitcase each, and because baggage rooms are no longer available at French railway stations (for good reason) we will have to sit with them for another five hours at Bordeaux.  Train travel in France sucks.  If you’ll pardon the obvious pun, this event rather puts Bergerac on the nose.

While we are waiting, Cherrie makes her way to the toilet.  This is on the platform and requires 40c change for entry.  She puts the coins in, the door opens, Cherrie enters, door closes but not fully and in the semi dark Cherrie hunts for the light.  She finds a button and presses it.  This releases a flood of water from all four sides, resulting in a drenched floor and a pair of drenched jeans.  Cherrie escapes the toilet, realising that because the door was not latched the computer thought she had exited and the efficient cleaning system kicked into place.  No relief for Cherrie though, if you know what I mean.

So we get on the bus, elbowed sideways by 12 year old university students but we can give as good elbow as we get and sit together.  The 55 seat bus stops at EVERY railway station between Bergerac and Bordeaux.  Now, this requires traversing narrow streets in small towns, and attempting to knock off wing mirrors like it was a national sport.  Perhaps it is, and to think it is one we could have engaged in willingly over the past weeks.

We finally get to Bordeaux. I go to the information counter to see if there is any way we can get an earlier train to Paris.  “Ah oui” I am told “no problem, there is a train in one hour and another in two hours”.  “Great” I say, can we please have two seats on the train in one hour?”  “No Madam, there are no seats available” “Then the next train please” I implore.  “No Madam, there are no seats available, but you can stand all the way if you like”.  It’s a 5 hour trip.  I don’t like.  So, we take a table at the coffee shop which has hosted us so often recently, and settle in for 5 hours.  I wonder when they will kick us out?  Train travel has not been kind to us in France and we will hesitate to do it again.

The friendly café at Gare Bordeaux is nice to us, because we keep spending money on coffee we don’t want and we sit there for 5 hours.  I have been keeping a vigilant eye on the board and notice that it seems that a new train has been added, to depart 15 minutes after our 7.30pm train.  A trip to the ticket office and a blessed English speaker confirms this is the case and finds us two first class tickets on that train.  This means we will have confirmed seats and somewhere in the carriage to store our luggage.  The train leaves on time and we arrive in Paris at midnight.  A long wait in what seems a never ending queue for a taxi, which eventually delivers us to our hotel, just as well  we had advised them earlier with regard to our late arrival.  Exhausted, after a 15 hour trip from Bergerac to Paris, we flop into bed.  At least we are here, in the city of lights.