Driving Abroad

 

I cannot believe that I have reached the age of sixty-five years, without ever having driven abroad—although truth be known, if I had the wherewithal, I would have chauffeur all the time. On several occasions during the three day drive to Menton, I considered offering to drive but the words never quite got to my lips.  

We set out at 4.30am on 10th November and headed for the channel tunnel—with only one false start when I realised, 200yards up the road, that I had forgotten my phone. I expected the roads to be quiet, but obviously I am out of touch. The M25, when we reached it, was like a Friday afternoon before a bank holiday weekend.  Perhaps everyone was out trying to get through before someone glued themselves to the carriageway…

The other side of the channel was wonderfully clear. For the first hundred kilometres UK vehicles outnumbered French, but they soon petered out. We British, on the whole still don’t venture too far. It’s just the same at Brancaster, where  holiday makers huddle together on the first thirty yards of the beach and all over the UK, picnics are more likely to be eaten in a lay-by on the side of the road, than in a field.

The overnight stays were in Epernay and Lyon.  For no particular reason I had booked a Kyriad in Epernay and a Sofitel in Lyon. 

Epernay with its huge wealth—behind the doors of the champagne caves—but a slightly neglected town centre, put me in mind of Newmarket in Suffolk, whose High Street compares unfavourably with the manicured stables and expensive houses, that surround the town..

The Kyriad hotel was welcoming and friendly. It offered a very comfortable bed, which ensured a good night’s sleep (aided by a soupçon of champagne, drunk during the evening). Sadly the Sofitel in Lyon let us down slightly.

Situated in the heart of Lyon, the hotel offered fabulous views from the bedroom, the staff were very helpful, the receptionist was lovely but with a TV that we couldn’t get to work, a bath without a plug and no apparent means of lowering the blinds to block out the light pollution, it wasn’t a great stay.  However, what was great, was the little restaurant that we found serving wonderful traditional food.

 

We left Lyon before breakfast, in fog so thick, that for the first three hours we could have been driving in a tunnel.  A visit to Avignon, allowed a break from the autoroute. We glanced at the Pont Sainte- Bézenet as we sat in a queue of traffic and drove all the way around the city walls before turning left to go into the centre. Within a thirty metres we found ourselves, along with some other vehicles, trapped in roadworks, where the only road that had not been blocked off was No Entry.  Discussion, waving of arms and scratching of heads followed, until manoeuvres had us on the move again but the only way forward seemed to be the carpark for Les Halles —so that’s where we went.  We parked, toured the market, bought overpriced, prepared food for dinner and settled in a nearby square for a delightful lunch in the welcome sunshine.  I had been pleased with my ability to make myself understood in the market but caused great hilarity asking for a beer, when I said to the waiter, “Deux poissons, s’il sous plait.”

We arrived in Menton around 4.30pm, followed the sat nav along what seemed to be impossibly steep narrow roads, found the apartment and met the lovely owners Jean Claude and Nicole.  

Menton is bigger and busier than I remember but still felt comfortably familiar. Exploring the area a little later, we were treated to the most beautiful sunset making our welcome complete. 

So, getting back to that thorny problem of driving abroad.  I was apprehensive, to say the least, when I got behind the wheel the next morning but, after a couple of hours, I thought that I was doing really well. I had driven around Menton without mishap, negotiating the terrifying hairpin bends down into the town. It only took two attempts and several extra kilometres to locate the hypermarket where we bought enough provisions to feed an army plus essentials like a baking tray and potato peeler. I then successfully negotiated those hairpin bends back to the apartment, turned round further up the hill, to aim for the drive in the correct direction and promptly rejoined the road on the wrong side!