“Well, this is why we came to the south of France,” we keep telling each other when the topic of money, food and I-can’t-keep-eating comes up. We love France, don’t get me wrong, we missed the set menu:
1.It’s actually cheaper to eat 3 courses than order 2 of the same dishes from the menu.
2.It generally includes wine and bread, unlike the damn Portuguese and Spanish who gave you bread then charged you for it, even though it wasn’t on the menu, or you didn’t even order it because you learnt the trick about them bringing you food you didn’t order and then charging you later because it WAS on the menu.
3.Can’t get enough of the French food, even wine from the supermarket is good, and cheap, so the more the merrier
BUT
1.I can’t eat 3 course meals for lunch and dinner, even if it is cheaper.
2.It’s really hard to justify, “it’s only 3 euros more” when if we keep spending money the way we are we will have to starve ourselves when we get to Italy and frankly, there is too much there we want to eat.
3.If we keep eating our way through the south of France then we WILL have to starve ourselves in Italy because we won’t be able to fit into any of our clothes and we won’t have any money to buy new ones because we spent it all in Provence and then we will not be able to see Italy except from the window of our hotel room because we will be too scared to show our fattyboombalada selves in front of the fashion conscious Italians.
3 days later…Well, we alternated between self imposed starvation (only because we had a 3 course lunch and couldn’t eat dinner, or because we had a 2 course dinner followed by a breakfast where our B and B host kept serving dessert with breakfast and couldn’t eat lunch). I swear that the reason French women don’t get fat is because they’re not eating crème caramel, bread and butter pudding, fig tart and some strawberry and raspberry compote - which sounds healthy but when you factor in the syrup that came with it really isn’t - for breakfast along with pain au chocolate, homemade bread, croissants and bowls of coffee. What made it worse was that for the first time since being on the trip we have been confronted with a set of bathroom scales…bloody French trying to rub it in no doubt. Needless to say we may have weighed ourselves on arrival just to see how many kilos we have gained before Provence – that detail will not be revealed! - but were too scared to weigh in at the end. Despite the continuing winds (80-100kms per hour) and stretched bellies, Provence is a landscape of what we imagined rural France was once all like: slow paced, ramshackled buildings, tree lined thoroughfares and open fields.
Was also surprised to discover that it is the home of French cowboys and drove to Carmague to see them, on their black and white horses, and the bulls.
Unfortunately: saw lots of the black and white horses, but no cowboys, the only people we saw riding the horses was a tourist and their guide; bulls and flamingoes won’t come close, even if you call them; 80-100kms winds are REALLY cold when you are walking in marshes next to the beach and your ears hurt because your hat doesn’t protect you from them; James lost his phone somewhere on the beach, or in the wetlands, so if you need to text us do so through Sharie and if you don’t have my number email James or me and we will send it to you. James, of course, is taking the loss badly: wireless won’t work, my computer is too slow, no phone, his “pluggedineness” is now basically non existent. I’ve told him that perhaps it is a good thing not to be so dependent on technology and that maybe this is all just fate, but he just gives me a withering look. Despite this, have decided that upon retirement (b/c let’s face it we will be too poor to do it before then) we must come back to Provence and see it in all its glories during summer.
At point of writing, we are now in Menton, on the French side of the Italian border. We drove along the Cote d’Azur, through Nice, and stopped at Villefranche-sur-mer for a wander and lunch. The winds dropped, the sun shone and the French Riviera was everything I had dreamed it would be. The Alps come right down to the sea, and expensive houses cling to their sides while the gleaming white of boats moored off shore, too costly to contemplate, contrasted sharply with the brilliant blue hues of the Mediterranean. We walked along the promenade and sat on the beach – no sand, just lots of little pebbles – and got as close to a swim as we will no doubt get at this time of year. It was difficult to drag myself away from such a beautiful spot but the sun was sinking and we still had to drive to Menton, a mere 30 kms away sure, but on the windy road, with French traffic and having to go through Monaco; it was an hour long drive to which James was not looking forward: I was driving; he had no control; motorbikes and Frenchmen drive like they are taking part in the Monaco Grand Prix; Monte Carlo is like trying to negotiate the Arc de Triumph during peak hour, you keep going round and round. Despite this, I did not hit anyone – have decided that because we are driving a car with French number plates I will just adopt a French frame of mind and drive like a true Frenchy myself! – and found the hotel without argument.
After much discussion re Italy and which way we are going to go (via Sardinia, down the west coast and over to Athens back via ferry to Venice, arrrghhh!) we have decided to change our original plan and go to Venice first, rather than last, and will leave tomorrow for the watery city and hope that despite November being the wettest time of year and the possibility of flooding, neither of these things will happen. (Thanks Brian for advice and website – with only 3 days notice we managed to get the grannyflat! Glad I emailed you when I did.) Needless to say we are madly reading up on Venice and what we are going to do in our 4, possibly 5, days. Have also decided to start some stats, so see sidebar for updates. So it’s adieu, France, for now, and buongiorno Italia!
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