Thence it was back to the village hall to say our goodbyes, and hit the road once more. We finally fell into bed just after midnight at the end of an enjoyably entertaining weekend.
28 juin 2010
Warm wedding Sarthois
Summer definitively arrived last week. The sun shone and the thermometer inexorably climbed from a maximum of 17C on Monday to 27 on Friday. Weekend weather to order for le bien-costaud's second mariage à la française. La bienheureuse ended a busy week (3 days of running training courses and meetings in Germany) with a rare morning in the office, and shortly after lunch we set off for the six hour drive to La Sarthe. Our arrival at the hotel coincided with that of the Cambridge plumber and his fair lady, we checked in before dashing out again in search of dinner in La Ferté Bernard. A not-so-swift bit of unorthodox parking later, in the process of finding a restaurant we bumped into the Irish man from Antarctica and his consort, driving aimlessly round the town in search of the hotel. A table for four thus became a table for six, and a fine dinner it was too.
Déjà-vu on Saturday morning. Pre-wedding drinks in the same bar as 12 years previously, more catching up with a decade of news as the great Fen-bah and Madame Mac arrive, and then back to the hotel to dust down and don suits and party frocks. Back in La Ferté Bernard, a classic car rally gathered and provided pre-ceremony interest before le bien-costaud and his bride the lovely Mademoiselle Boop suitably arrived in an MG V8, said "Oui", and we all adjourned to a nearby village hall. Several glasses of bubbly later temperatures rose, the dinner courses kept arriving, speeches were made, dances were done, and French inquisitions were suffered and avoided. Finally, replete and exhausted we slipped away from the party in search of a long short-cut home through the rabbits, and a welcome bed.
A thick head in the morning for me (I claim heat exhaustion and dehydration), check out of the hotel just before midday, then off to the village hall again for the post-wedding lunch. Just as 15 years before, le petit-paumé had been adopted by the maire-adjoint and his wife, so too temporarily were la bienheureuse and the plumber in turn. Which led us back to the our convivial hosts' marvellous 16th century house to watch the final collapse of England's World Cup campaign.
Thence it was back to the village hall to say our goodbyes, and hit the road once more. We finally fell into bed just after midnight at the end of an enjoyably entertaining weekend.
Thence it was back to the village hall to say our goodbyes, and hit the road once more. We finally fell into bed just after midnight at the end of an enjoyably entertaining weekend.
23 juin 2010
Curse of the leprechaun
And so, the French World Cup campaign finishes much as it started. Ignominy, disgrace, ridicule and polemic: none are in short supply in France. Opinion is roughly equally divided as to who is to blame: the players, the coach, the French football federation. The fallout in French public life has been astonishing and over the top. Maybe it all goes back to that day in November last year, when an infamous handball wasn't spotted by the referee, the Irish nation felt cheated out of a place at the World Cup, and a little green man bent on mischief-making put a curse on the French team.
What seems sure is that the repercussions will be felt in France for months, nay years to come…
What seems sure is that the repercussions will be felt in France for months, nay years to come…
22 juin 2010
Moody Blues
France is gripped by a single story at the moment - the implosion of les Bleus at the World Cup. Shame, outrage, consternation, outright disbelief, all emotions in the end amount to the same thing - unanimous condemnation of the players' behaviour.
A sporting soap opera without precedent:
Episode 1: half time in the France Mexico match, coach Domenech criticises the performance of striker Anelka. The man known in the past as the Incredible Sulk responds by telling Domenech to "go f**k yourself, you son of a whore". Domenech appears on the pitch for the second half, alone and five minutes before the team returns. Anelka doesn't reappear and France go on to lose the match 2-0.
Episode 2: news of the spat is leaked to the French press. Condemnation of Anelka's obscene outburst is unanimous, and the Féderation française de Football throws him out of the squad.
Episode 3: Jean-Pierre Escalettes, president of the FFF and a bumbling old duffer who bears a striking resemblance to the bumbling old duffers at the English FA, appears at a press conference and contradicts himself several times but ultimately denies that Anelka was only sent home because of the press reaction to the dressing room incident. Alongside him team captain Patrice Evra raises his eyes to the heavens, rubs his face with his hands and does everything but explicitly express his disagreement with the decision. He denounces the source of the dressing room leak as a 'traitor'.
Episode 4: The next day les Bleus refuse to take part in a training session which is open to the public. The players all appear on the pitch wearing trainers but restrict themselves to talking to fans and signing autographs before returning to closet themselves in the team coach. Patrice Evra is filmed having an animated conversation with Domenech when fitness coach Robert Duverne approaches the pair. The confrontation becomes more lively yet, with much finger wagging and gesticulating on the part of Duverne and a sullen response on the part of Evra. Domenech is forced to physically intervene and restrain his colleague, and Duverne finally storms off, flinging away his whistle in disgust as he leaves.
Episode 5: The managing director of the FFF responds to the strike by resigning on the spot. His voice quivering with emotion, he denounces the players' behaviour as unacceptable.
Episode 6: The drama eventually reaches a climax when Domenech emerges from the team bus. He reads out a statement written by the players, which states the obvious and explains that the strike is in protest at Anelka's exclusion from the squad.
Episode 7: Fury and condemnation explodes back home in France. Politicians, commentators, pundits, fans and ex-players alike unite in opposition to the players' attitude, frequently likened to that of spoiled brats. Which, errm, is what they are really...
Episode 8: Domenech appears alone at the pre-match press conference yesterday (normally the team captain is expected to attend as well), and prefaces questions with a rambling commentary explaining that he read out the players' statement but should at the same time have said he completely disagreed with their 'imbecilic behaviour'. He responds to questions about the composition of today's team by hinting that ring-leaders of the revolt may be dropped while other players may refuse to play because they disagreed with the strike.
Episode 9: At the order of Monsieur le Président, Sports Minister Roselyne Bachelot extends her visit to South Africa in order to hold a meeting with players and coaches to tell them what France and the World thinks of them. She appears at a press conference shortly afterwards and, doe-eyed, relates the dressing down she gave the players. Her performance is variously compared to that of super-nanny or a strict mother-superior.
Episode 10: coming at 4pm this afternoon - South Africa vs France. A must win for both teams while hoping that the other game in the group doesn't end in a draw. The French eleven that takes to the pitch is anybody's guess, as is their state of mind. A poll for France Television yesterday resulted in 75% saying they hope France loses, but commentators and ex-players appearing on TV today have all finished by saying the game is a chance for the players to redeem themselves, and mentioning the 'petit espoir' that the team makes it to the next round...
A sporting soap opera without precedent:
Episode 1: half time in the France Mexico match, coach Domenech criticises the performance of striker Anelka. The man known in the past as the Incredible Sulk responds by telling Domenech to "go f**k yourself, you son of a whore". Domenech appears on the pitch for the second half, alone and five minutes before the team returns. Anelka doesn't reappear and France go on to lose the match 2-0.
Episode 2: news of the spat is leaked to the French press. Condemnation of Anelka's obscene outburst is unanimous, and the Féderation française de Football throws him out of the squad.
Episode 3: Jean-Pierre Escalettes, president of the FFF and a bumbling old duffer who bears a striking resemblance to the bumbling old duffers at the English FA, appears at a press conference and contradicts himself several times but ultimately denies that Anelka was only sent home because of the press reaction to the dressing room incident. Alongside him team captain Patrice Evra raises his eyes to the heavens, rubs his face with his hands and does everything but explicitly express his disagreement with the decision. He denounces the source of the dressing room leak as a 'traitor'.
Episode 4: The next day les Bleus refuse to take part in a training session which is open to the public. The players all appear on the pitch wearing trainers but restrict themselves to talking to fans and signing autographs before returning to closet themselves in the team coach. Patrice Evra is filmed having an animated conversation with Domenech when fitness coach Robert Duverne approaches the pair. The confrontation becomes more lively yet, with much finger wagging and gesticulating on the part of Duverne and a sullen response on the part of Evra. Domenech is forced to physically intervene and restrain his colleague, and Duverne finally storms off, flinging away his whistle in disgust as he leaves.
Episode 5: The managing director of the FFF responds to the strike by resigning on the spot. His voice quivering with emotion, he denounces the players' behaviour as unacceptable.
Episode 6: The drama eventually reaches a climax when Domenech emerges from the team bus. He reads out a statement written by the players, which states the obvious and explains that the strike is in protest at Anelka's exclusion from the squad.
Episode 7: Fury and condemnation explodes back home in France. Politicians, commentators, pundits, fans and ex-players alike unite in opposition to the players' attitude, frequently likened to that of spoiled brats. Which, errm, is what they are really...
Episode 8: Domenech appears alone at the pre-match press conference yesterday (normally the team captain is expected to attend as well), and prefaces questions with a rambling commentary explaining that he read out the players' statement but should at the same time have said he completely disagreed with their 'imbecilic behaviour'. He responds to questions about the composition of today's team by hinting that ring-leaders of the revolt may be dropped while other players may refuse to play because they disagreed with the strike.
Episode 9: At the order of Monsieur le Président, Sports Minister Roselyne Bachelot extends her visit to South Africa in order to hold a meeting with players and coaches to tell them what France and the World thinks of them. She appears at a press conference shortly afterwards and, doe-eyed, relates the dressing down she gave the players. Her performance is variously compared to that of super-nanny or a strict mother-superior.
Episode 10: coming at 4pm this afternoon - South Africa vs France. A must win for both teams while hoping that the other game in the group doesn't end in a draw. The French eleven that takes to the pitch is anybody's guess, as is their state of mind. A poll for France Television yesterday resulted in 75% saying they hope France loses, but commentators and ex-players appearing on TV today have all finished by saying the game is a chance for the players to redeem themselves, and mentioning the 'petit espoir' that the team makes it to the next round...
20 juin 2010
Corsican idyll
Birthday holiday fortnight, part 2. Toulon to Ajaccio, a week in Corsica, Ajaccio to Nice to Toulon to Lyon.
Saturday 12th
The 6am wakeup and belated car packing don't make for an ideal start to the week, but the trip to the ferry terminal and boarding go smoothly, so shortly after 8.30am we sail out of Toulon harbour past a Spanish aircraft carrier and into the calm, open water of the Mediterranean. A 90 minute nap revives a grumpy Sogwig, we successfully negotiate lunch with a grumpy Italian waiter and get our first sighting of l'Île de Beauté. Shortly after two in the afternoon, the ferry docks, disgorges its load, and we successfully navigate through the narrow streets of Ajaccio and onto the Route des Sanguinaires. Fifteen minutes later we find our home for the week and relax in the sun dappled garden for the next hour while the caretaker finishes cleaning and grumbling about the previous week's occupants leaving late.
At last we're in, and a lovely villa it is too, the sea twenty yards from the front door (albeit over a road and down a small precipice). Bedrooms are rapidly seized, we unpack and settle in before venturing out to the nearest supermarket to do some provisions shopping. Early evening we receive word and an ETA from the Cherry Hinton gooners, en route from Bastia, with la petite beaucoup suffering a touch of motion sickness as her driver enjoys the switchback mountain road in an attempt to arrived before England's opening match kicks off in South Africa. He almost makes it and we immediately tuck into barbecued lamb, sausages and salad. Several G&Ts, bottle of champagne, a box of rosé and a goalkeeping blunder later the match result seems immaterial. We eventually all fall into bed exhausted.
Sunday 13th
A lie-in and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace are cut short as la bienheureuse and I drive north to collect le frère aîné from Bastia airport. As we leave Ajaccio behind us and climb into the mountains, the sun disappears behind threatening clouds. The route is winding and impressively scenic nonetheless, and we reach the airport two hours later. Big brother is retrieved, and we make the return trip intending to stop off for lunch en route. A thunderstorm puts paid to that idea and we content ourselves with refuelling on quiche and pastries in Bocognano. We return to the house to find the sun hiding behind clouds and our companions all having siestas. Hard work being on holiday.
Sunshine makes a late afternoon reappearance, which means a game of boules in the garden and another BBQ on the dining agenda. G&Ts followed by dinner taken in the conservatory - salmon and cream cheese hors d'oeuvres, slow cooked meat accompanied by a tasty tomato sauce rustled up by the master chef, cheese, with chocolate tart to finish. Never under feed when you can over eat.
Monday 14th
Clear blue skies greet us on our first day of Corsican diving. Early breakfast and by 9am we are milling around at the dive centre on an Ajaccio beach itching to get into the water. Our hosts are impressed by the 4 stars on the First Class Diver's qualification card, but less impressed when she almost drowns before we even leave the beach. Fortunately I'm on hand to effect a rescue and we are soon zipping across the water on a large RIB with inboard engine towards the first dive site, Campanina, a large rock hosting a navigation beacon on the opposite side of the gulf of Ajaccio. A lovely dive, with spectacular underwater topology, sundry scorpion fish, moray eels, groupers and hundreds of transparent sea squirts.
After pizzas for lunch in a beachside paillotte, we return for a second dive. This time, having been assessed as competent during the morning, we are allowed to dive unaccompanied at a site only a couple of hundred metres from the first. E sette nave is another series of spectacular rock formations, above and underwater, at the Pointe de l'Isolella. More scorpion fish and morays, fewer tunicates, but an impressive pinnacle and a lovely swim through in shallow water are the highlights. We return to the north side of the bay dive-satisfied and arrange to return on Wednesday. Meanwhile the cycling chef has completed his first 100km jaunt of the week, and le frère and Ms Beaucoup have been for a stroll in Ajaccio and an abortive attempt to find the walking path in the hills behind.
For dinner Sogwig consults her cooking oracle, pater, and comes up with delicious roast chicken stuffed with onions, garlic, basil and lemon, while ma bien-aimée prepares a goat's cheese tart for starter. The Margarita man prepares a strong sample of his signature cocktail to oil the cuisine and dining, more cheese and chocolate tart are consumed, and one by one, or two by two, we all eventually retire, replete and well soaked.
Tuesday 15th
The clouds roll in overnight, and we all rise late. By late morning hangovers have receded enough to get everybody moving, and we set off for a drive along the coast road towards Porto. Despite the overcast skies, the scenic coastal and mountain route is enchanting, and we stop for lunch in a pleasant restaurant in Sagone. Pressing on, we reach our main objective, les Callanche de Piana by mid afternoon. Spectacular is an inadequate word to describe the views of the Golfe de Porto and the red rock cliffs and calanques. We eventually find space to park on the precipitous, winding, tourist-clogged road and get out to gape and snap. Drinking in the scenery reminds us of other things to imbibe, and we carry on down into Porto. Abandoning the soggy diver to sleep and fret in the car we stroll around the port and finish up in a restaurant terrace overlooking the harbour.
The rain starts to fall on the return journey, and as we take the hilly, back route through Ajaccio the streets turn into the rivers and the storm drains into geysers. Back at the villa the thunder and lightning roar. No matter, inside the G&Ts and rosé wine continue to flow, and we feast on leftovers and cheese.
Wednesday 16th
A cloudy start to another diving morning, but as we leave the beach in Ajaccio, the sun makes a welcome return. The boat heads in the same direction as Monday but stops a hundred metres short of the coast at a site known as the Tête de Mort. A pinnacle that rises from 40 metres to a few centimetres below the surface, it has snared many an unwary fishermen in the past, hence the name. And a stunning dive it is too. Plunging walls, schools of bream, morays, scorpion fish, an arrow-head shaped rock and a trapped bubble of air beneath an overhang.
While we play beneath the waves, the above water trio head upwards to explore the hills above the route des Sanguinaires and watch the surf rolling in on the isolated beach of Minaccia. We regroup at the villa and spend the afternoon relaxing in the sunshine. In the evening G&T aperitifs have to be necked rather quicker than intended as a late rush to find an alternative taxi company results in travel into Ajaccio a few minutes earlier than planned. We thus arrive at 20123 in high spirits, and a highly enjoyable dinner and evening follows. The restaurant is named after the post code of the mountain village it was transplanted from, and recreates the square village in-house. The fixed menu of vegetable soup or cheese & ham quiche, roast lamb or veal ragout, cheese and dessert is delicious, and all the while we are entertained by a tuneful Corsican cappella group.
Thursday 17th
For our final dive of the fortnight we head out in the same direction, and after a minor communication problem is resolved we end up back at Death's Head. Another great dive ends, and we reluctantly bid goodbye to the Ragnole beaux gosses. They send us off in traditional Corsican fashion with midday aperitifs of Cap Corse and pastis. Meanwhile the non-divers have been into town to visit the market.
All bar the cycling chef (off out for another short 100km ride through the hills) head back to the villa to relax, but the peaceful afternoon is shattered by the sound of low flying aircraft. We rush out just in time to see the third Canadair water bomber fly over barely 100 feet above our heads. Amid much excitement we watch the three amphibious aircraft circle out into the bay and, one by one, skim across the water filling their tanks before lifting off again. Three times they repeat the exercise, apparently dumping water each time, and we decide they are on a training run rather than real life fire-fighting.
In the evening it's la chef Beaucoup's turn to cook. The morning visit to the market has produced three large bream, which she stuffs with onion and parsley. Meanwhile la bienheureuse gives a master chef lesson on tarte tatin making to Prof Margarita, and I busy myself preparing caipirinhas, a long and labour intensive process. Fortunately the fish takes rather longer to cook than expected, so we all have time to sup Brazilian rum and lime at our leisure. The bream and the tarte tatin are worth the wait and, as the drinking goes on deep into the night, the five litre box of rosé empties…
Friday 18th
Alack and alas, last day of the holiday. Late breakfast and a lazy morning (a quick cycle ride, and shopping trip to Ajaccio aside) are followed by a drive out along the route des Sanguinaires in search of a paillotte recommended by our dive centre friends. We end up in one which turns out not to be the one intended, but have a lovely lunch all the same in an idyllic beachside setting. Afterwards we continue to the end of the road, to la Pointe de la Parata to gaze out at the Îles des Sanguinaires. We stroll along the path round the point and the Genoese tower and then head up over the hills to swim and sunbathe on the Plage de Minaccia.
Then, alas, it's time to head home and start packing. In between we fit in a final sumptuous barbecue dinner - lamb and merguez sausages, aubergine bake, enormous salad and chocolate mousse - and watching drab England grind their way to another World Cup draw. Finally, it's time for bed and goodbyes, as the La Favière four have another early alarm call the following morning for the 8.30am ferry to Nice. The end of a wonderful week, capped by the crowning of FCD Cacatête six times in a row.
Saturday 19th
Ferry to Nice, drive around Nice trying to find the autoroute, make it to Toulon, somehow find the Margarita Man's hotel without map or directions, drop him off and then hit the road back to Lyon. We arrive just before nine in the evening, unload the car and eventually fall exhausted into bed, looking forward to a Sunday lie-in. No such luck. The soggy diver has an early flight the next morning, which means I'm up at 6am again for the trip to the airport. Looking forward to a relaxing week of lie-ins, back in the normal routine...
Saturday 12th
The 6am wakeup and belated car packing don't make for an ideal start to the week, but the trip to the ferry terminal and boarding go smoothly, so shortly after 8.30am we sail out of Toulon harbour past a Spanish aircraft carrier and into the calm, open water of the Mediterranean. A 90 minute nap revives a grumpy Sogwig, we successfully negotiate lunch with a grumpy Italian waiter and get our first sighting of l'Île de Beauté. Shortly after two in the afternoon, the ferry docks, disgorges its load, and we successfully navigate through the narrow streets of Ajaccio and onto the Route des Sanguinaires. Fifteen minutes later we find our home for the week and relax in the sun dappled garden for the next hour while the caretaker finishes cleaning and grumbling about the previous week's occupants leaving late.
Sunday 13th
A lie-in and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace are cut short as la bienheureuse and I drive north to collect le frère aîné from Bastia airport. As we leave Ajaccio behind us and climb into the mountains, the sun disappears behind threatening clouds. The route is winding and impressively scenic nonetheless, and we reach the airport two hours later. Big brother is retrieved, and we make the return trip intending to stop off for lunch en route. A thunderstorm puts paid to that idea and we content ourselves with refuelling on quiche and pastries in Bocognano. We return to the house to find the sun hiding behind clouds and our companions all having siestas. Hard work being on holiday.
Sunshine makes a late afternoon reappearance, which means a game of boules in the garden and another BBQ on the dining agenda. G&Ts followed by dinner taken in the conservatory - salmon and cream cheese hors d'oeuvres, slow cooked meat accompanied by a tasty tomato sauce rustled up by the master chef, cheese, with chocolate tart to finish. Never under feed when you can over eat.
Monday 14th
Clear blue skies greet us on our first day of Corsican diving. Early breakfast and by 9am we are milling around at the dive centre on an Ajaccio beach itching to get into the water. Our hosts are impressed by the 4 stars on the First Class Diver's qualification card, but less impressed when she almost drowns before we even leave the beach. Fortunately I'm on hand to effect a rescue and we are soon zipping across the water on a large RIB with inboard engine towards the first dive site, Campanina, a large rock hosting a navigation beacon on the opposite side of the gulf of Ajaccio. A lovely dive, with spectacular underwater topology, sundry scorpion fish, moray eels, groupers and hundreds of transparent sea squirts.
After pizzas for lunch in a beachside paillotte, we return for a second dive. This time, having been assessed as competent during the morning, we are allowed to dive unaccompanied at a site only a couple of hundred metres from the first. E sette nave is another series of spectacular rock formations, above and underwater, at the Pointe de l'Isolella. More scorpion fish and morays, fewer tunicates, but an impressive pinnacle and a lovely swim through in shallow water are the highlights. We return to the north side of the bay dive-satisfied and arrange to return on Wednesday. Meanwhile the cycling chef has completed his first 100km jaunt of the week, and le frère and Ms Beaucoup have been for a stroll in Ajaccio and an abortive attempt to find the walking path in the hills behind.
Tuesday 15th
The clouds roll in overnight, and we all rise late. By late morning hangovers have receded enough to get everybody moving, and we set off for a drive along the coast road towards Porto. Despite the overcast skies, the scenic coastal and mountain route is enchanting, and we stop for lunch in a pleasant restaurant in Sagone. Pressing on, we reach our main objective, les Callanche de Piana by mid afternoon. Spectacular is an inadequate word to describe the views of the Golfe de Porto and the red rock cliffs and calanques. We eventually find space to park on the precipitous, winding, tourist-clogged road and get out to gape and snap. Drinking in the scenery reminds us of other things to imbibe, and we carry on down into Porto. Abandoning the soggy diver to sleep and fret in the car we stroll around the port and finish up in a restaurant terrace overlooking the harbour.
The rain starts to fall on the return journey, and as we take the hilly, back route through Ajaccio the streets turn into the rivers and the storm drains into geysers. Back at the villa the thunder and lightning roar. No matter, inside the G&Ts and rosé wine continue to flow, and we feast on leftovers and cheese.
A cloudy start to another diving morning, but as we leave the beach in Ajaccio, the sun makes a welcome return. The boat heads in the same direction as Monday but stops a hundred metres short of the coast at a site known as the Tête de Mort. A pinnacle that rises from 40 metres to a few centimetres below the surface, it has snared many an unwary fishermen in the past, hence the name. And a stunning dive it is too. Plunging walls, schools of bream, morays, scorpion fish, an arrow-head shaped rock and a trapped bubble of air beneath an overhang.
While we play beneath the waves, the above water trio head upwards to explore the hills above the route des Sanguinaires and watch the surf rolling in on the isolated beach of Minaccia. We regroup at the villa and spend the afternoon relaxing in the sunshine. In the evening G&T aperitifs have to be necked rather quicker than intended as a late rush to find an alternative taxi company results in travel into Ajaccio a few minutes earlier than planned. We thus arrive at 20123 in high spirits, and a highly enjoyable dinner and evening follows. The restaurant is named after the post code of the mountain village it was transplanted from, and recreates the square village in-house. The fixed menu of vegetable soup or cheese & ham quiche, roast lamb or veal ragout, cheese and dessert is delicious, and all the while we are entertained by a tuneful Corsican cappella group.
Thursday 17th
For our final dive of the fortnight we head out in the same direction, and after a minor communication problem is resolved we end up back at Death's Head. Another great dive ends, and we reluctantly bid goodbye to the Ragnole beaux gosses. They send us off in traditional Corsican fashion with midday aperitifs of Cap Corse and pastis. Meanwhile the non-divers have been into town to visit the market.
All bar the cycling chef (off out for another short 100km ride through the hills) head back to the villa to relax, but the peaceful afternoon is shattered by the sound of low flying aircraft. We rush out just in time to see the third Canadair water bomber fly over barely 100 feet above our heads. Amid much excitement we watch the three amphibious aircraft circle out into the bay and, one by one, skim across the water filling their tanks before lifting off again. Three times they repeat the exercise, apparently dumping water each time, and we decide they are on a training run rather than real life fire-fighting.
In the evening it's la chef Beaucoup's turn to cook. The morning visit to the market has produced three large bream, which she stuffs with onion and parsley. Meanwhile la bienheureuse gives a master chef lesson on tarte tatin making to Prof Margarita, and I busy myself preparing caipirinhas, a long and labour intensive process. Fortunately the fish takes rather longer to cook than expected, so we all have time to sup Brazilian rum and lime at our leisure. The bream and the tarte tatin are worth the wait and, as the drinking goes on deep into the night, the five litre box of rosé empties…
Friday 18th
Alack and alas, last day of the holiday. Late breakfast and a lazy morning (a quick cycle ride, and shopping trip to Ajaccio aside) are followed by a drive out along the route des Sanguinaires in search of a paillotte recommended by our dive centre friends. We end up in one which turns out not to be the one intended, but have a lovely lunch all the same in an idyllic beachside setting. Afterwards we continue to the end of the road, to la Pointe de la Parata to gaze out at the Îles des Sanguinaires. We stroll along the path round the point and the Genoese tower and then head up over the hills to swim and sunbathe on the Plage de Minaccia.
Saturday 19th
Ferry to Nice, drive around Nice trying to find the autoroute, make it to Toulon, somehow find the Margarita Man's hotel without map or directions, drop him off and then hit the road back to Lyon. We arrive just before nine in the evening, unload the car and eventually fall exhausted into bed, looking forward to a Sunday lie-in. No such luck. The soggy diver has an early flight the next morning, which means I'm up at 6am again for the trip to the airport. Looking forward to a relaxing week of lie-ins, back in the normal routine...
19 juin 2010
A bell tinkles 50
Two weeks of sun and wind, diving and driving, eating and drinking, walking and cycling, tinkling and snapping: what better way to celebrate ma cinquantaine, and what better place to do so than the Côte d'Azur and La Corse.
A wonderful holiday in two parts. The first week went something like this:
Saturday 5th: having collected the Sogwig from the airport late on Friday night, the three of us pack the car and the roof box and head south in warm sunshine for the 420km drive to La Favière. Four and a half hours later we arrive, collect the keys for the waterside apartments and settle in to await the arrival of the DenEfamily. Two hours after they are expected, I finally receive a phone call from the DenEdad, lost in a hire car somewhere between Marseille airport and La Favière without a map or a satnav. The trio finally reach their destination and the DenEmum, with calm control, relates the reason for the additional delay - her husband had hired a car with no idea from which hire company. The local mairie puts on a fireworks show on the water yards from our balcony to celebrate everyone's safe arrival.
Sunday 6th: a day of relaxation and recovery, interrupted by a short drive to Toulon airport to collect Professor Margarita, the final participant in the first week of celebrations. The weather holds, the Tinkler discovers the joys of sand castles on the beach and six adults to share his dinky cars with. Everyone enjoys a swim in the pool despite a non-functioning electronic key. The eating and drinking begin in earnest with dinner at La Rade, a quayside restaurant. The soupe de poisson earns a mere 6.0 but the dark chocolate mousse has the Sands of North Berwick in raptures.
Monday 7th: the first day of diving. A gentle start - a potter round La Formigue in the morning and an aborted trip to la Pointe du Vaisseau: the French military is carrying out test missile firing, so we make do instead with a gentle pootle up and down la Pointe de la Galère. Dinner in this evening - G&T aperitifs with delicious roast chicken and salad followed by a la bienheureuse special dessert. Cherry clafoutis, mmmm.
Tuesday 8th: a great day of diving - a trip to the Rubis laid on by the dishy Bormes Plongée boys by special birthday request, followed by the delayed rendezvous with the groupers at la Pointe du Vaisseau in the afternoon. Another restaurant dinner in the evening, a stroll out to an old favourite, the Copacabana Beach, where the DenEson discovers the delights of digital cameras and spends the evening amassing an entertaining portfolio of interestingly composed photos. The soupe de poisson earns a 7, alas no mousse au chocolat but the colonels provide cool consolation and leave everybody decidedly happy.
Windy Wednesday 9th: the big day dawns fresh and rather breezy. The boat surprisingly makes the trip out to Port Cros, battling through the wind and big waves, and we enjoy a lovely dive on the ski slope and pinnacle of la Pointe de Montremian. It is post dive that the problems begin. Large swells make getting back on board rather interesting. The more sensible among us hang about at three metres waiting for a free ladder and the boat to swing back towards us. Others with little legs and a suspect finning action are swept away by the wind and waves at the surface and are rescued by a heroic divemaster. A few poor travellers spend the trip back to port looking distinctly green but manage to keep their breakfast down, only to see it make the return journey as soon as we reach the haven of the marina.
Diving for the afternoon is cancelled, so we all go swimming in the pool even though the non-functioning key is still theoretically bars entry. In the evening I receive gifts including a silver topped marmite jar and an evening at the Ritz, sit back, watch and am waited on while my friends cook a bountiful birthday meal. While we sup caipirinhas and nibble breadsticks and dip-dip, The Margarita Man and the Soggy Diver prepare salmon, cream cheese, tomato and mozzarella toast for starters. Then the DenEmasterchef conjures up a marvellous main course - succulent steak and salad - while for dessert ma bien-aimée creates another specialty, the birthday boy's favourite, tasty tarte tatin. All washed down with champagne and wine. Delicious. An excellent evening ends with chocolate birthday cake and stuffed but satisfied tummies.
Thursday 10th: the wind still howls, the yacht riggings still clink, and the diving is cancelled again. We spend the morning on the windswept beach, where the DenEboy and the builder-gardiner build boats and planes respectively in the sand for the DenEtinkler, and la bienheureuse spends hours driving the sand-boat at its owners request. In the evening I enjoy birthday meal number two. Dinner out this time, at the Brasserie du Port with the mecs de Bormes Plongée who had graciously accepted the invitation to help celebrate my 50th year and our 9th year of diving with them at La Favière. They surprise me with a lovely gift - a marvellous picture of the Rubis, made of up 80 separate underwater photos. A great time is had by all, the soupe de poisson and the mousse au chocolate both earn an 8, and le beau belge is persuaded to take us to La Gabinière the next day despite being fully booked.
Friday 11th: recovery in the morning. La bienheureuse sorts out the pool entry problem and we all go swimming again, finally gaining entrance without any arm-twisting of the caretaker or other pool users. The girls then go shopping and return bearing gifts for themselves and me of an afternoon Thai massage. Our final dive of the week is programmed for as soon as the 40 strong diving club return from their afternoon sortie, which just gives us time to fit in three visits to the masseur. It is after 5pm by the time we leave port for La Gabinière. Most of us enjoy an exciting dive on the east wall in a current which proves a little strong for the force finner who spends some time clinging to a rock before la bienheureuse rescues her and provides a tow to calmer water. The benefit of the current is that the bigger fish are all out patrolling - lots of small groups of barracuda, dentis and groupers. Another stunning dive.
And so a great week ended. We ate our final dinner back in the Brasserie du Port with the opening French game of the World Cup going on in the adjoining restaurant, and spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and packing. Saturday it was the return home for some, and the trip to Corsica for the rest. The latter group were up at 6am to finish squeezing three sets of dive kit, four sets of luggage and four adults into one small car and roof box for the 8.30am ferry crossing from Toulon to Ajaccio. Somehow we made it…
A wonderful holiday in two parts. The first week went something like this:
Saturday 5th: having collected the Sogwig from the airport late on Friday night, the three of us pack the car and the roof box and head south in warm sunshine for the 420km drive to La Favière. Four and a half hours later we arrive, collect the keys for the waterside apartments and settle in to await the arrival of the DenEfamily. Two hours after they are expected, I finally receive a phone call from the DenEdad, lost in a hire car somewhere between Marseille airport and La Favière without a map or a satnav. The trio finally reach their destination and the DenEmum, with calm control, relates the reason for the additional delay - her husband had hired a car with no idea from which hire company. The local mairie puts on a fireworks show on the water yards from our balcony to celebrate everyone's safe arrival.
Sunday 6th: a day of relaxation and recovery, interrupted by a short drive to Toulon airport to collect Professor Margarita, the final participant in the first week of celebrations. The weather holds, the Tinkler discovers the joys of sand castles on the beach and six adults to share his dinky cars with. Everyone enjoys a swim in the pool despite a non-functioning electronic key. The eating and drinking begin in earnest with dinner at La Rade, a quayside restaurant. The soupe de poisson earns a mere 6.0 but the dark chocolate mousse has the Sands of North Berwick in raptures.
Monday 7th: the first day of diving. A gentle start - a potter round La Formigue in the morning and an aborted trip to la Pointe du Vaisseau: the French military is carrying out test missile firing, so we make do instead with a gentle pootle up and down la Pointe de la Galère. Dinner in this evening - G&T aperitifs with delicious roast chicken and salad followed by a la bienheureuse special dessert. Cherry clafoutis, mmmm.
Tuesday 8th: a great day of diving - a trip to the Rubis laid on by the dishy Bormes Plongée boys by special birthday request, followed by the delayed rendezvous with the groupers at la Pointe du Vaisseau in the afternoon. Another restaurant dinner in the evening, a stroll out to an old favourite, the Copacabana Beach, where the DenEson discovers the delights of digital cameras and spends the evening amassing an entertaining portfolio of interestingly composed photos. The soupe de poisson earns a 7, alas no mousse au chocolat but the colonels provide cool consolation and leave everybody decidedly happy.
Windy Wednesday 9th: the big day dawns fresh and rather breezy. The boat surprisingly makes the trip out to Port Cros, battling through the wind and big waves, and we enjoy a lovely dive on the ski slope and pinnacle of la Pointe de Montremian. It is post dive that the problems begin. Large swells make getting back on board rather interesting. The more sensible among us hang about at three metres waiting for a free ladder and the boat to swing back towards us. Others with little legs and a suspect finning action are swept away by the wind and waves at the surface and are rescued by a heroic divemaster. A few poor travellers spend the trip back to port looking distinctly green but manage to keep their breakfast down, only to see it make the return journey as soon as we reach the haven of the marina.
Diving for the afternoon is cancelled, so we all go swimming in the pool even though the non-functioning key is still theoretically bars entry. In the evening I receive gifts including a silver topped marmite jar and an evening at the Ritz, sit back, watch and am waited on while my friends cook a bountiful birthday meal. While we sup caipirinhas and nibble breadsticks and dip-dip, The Margarita Man and the Soggy Diver prepare salmon, cream cheese, tomato and mozzarella toast for starters. Then the DenEmasterchef conjures up a marvellous main course - succulent steak and salad - while for dessert ma bien-aimée creates another specialty, the birthday boy's favourite, tasty tarte tatin. All washed down with champagne and wine. Delicious. An excellent evening ends with chocolate birthday cake and stuffed but satisfied tummies.
Thursday 10th: the wind still howls, the yacht riggings still clink, and the diving is cancelled again. We spend the morning on the windswept beach, where the DenEboy and the builder-gardiner build boats and planes respectively in the sand for the DenEtinkler, and la bienheureuse spends hours driving the sand-boat at its owners request. In the evening I enjoy birthday meal number two. Dinner out this time, at the Brasserie du Port with the mecs de Bormes Plongée who had graciously accepted the invitation to help celebrate my 50th year and our 9th year of diving with them at La Favière. They surprise me with a lovely gift - a marvellous picture of the Rubis, made of up 80 separate underwater photos. A great time is had by all, the soupe de poisson and the mousse au chocolate both earn an 8, and le beau belge is persuaded to take us to La Gabinière the next day despite being fully booked.
And so a great week ended. We ate our final dinner back in the Brasserie du Port with the opening French game of the World Cup going on in the adjoining restaurant, and spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and packing. Saturday it was the return home for some, and the trip to Corsica for the rest. The latter group were up at 6am to finish squeezing three sets of dive kit, four sets of luggage and four adults into one small car and roof box for the 8.30am ferry crossing from Toulon to Ajaccio. Somehow we made it…
Inscription à :
Articles (Atom)