In my early twenties I had moved to live in Swindon, Wiltshire. I had a girlfriend Tracy. We had previously shared one holiday in Torquay, Devon, with Tracy’s parents, her sister Lilly and Lily’s boyfriend Teddy. Tracy was a pretty petite redhead, who closely resembled the girl in the art nouveau painting the “Moon” by Alphonse Mucha. Lilly was also a good looker, but taller than Tracy and blond. Her hair was also in a puffed out frizzy style that made her look a bit like Harriet with the matches wearing Struwwelpeter’s wig. Teddy looked like an Elvis impersonator with bad teeth.
Now we had decided to go a bit further a-field. This time without Tracy’s parents to accompany us. It was decided we should head down to the South of France and then assuming the driver, me, still had any energy left, cut across Italy to Rimini on the Italian East coast. Tracy, Lilly and Teddy had some years before been to Rhodes, a Greek Island and liked lively Mediterranean resorts.
So in mid July, we set out from Swindon in my metallic blue, two litre, MK 3 Ford Cortina, which I had brought at a bargain second hand price from a car auction. Although the car had quite a high mileage, it had so far proved to be reliable.
After arriving in Calais we headed South, planning to take a similar route to my earlier trips with my parents. A few map reading errors, meant that while the direction we took was more or less southward, we strayed a bit from the original route.
Our first overnight stop was at a small town called Joinville on the river Marne. We found a small hotel, the Lion d’Or which had it’s own restaurant. My French was by now very rusty and it took a while to explain the sleeping arrangements we required. These were met with looks of disbelief.
I asked for two double rooms, at least one of which must have two single beds. This was because even in that sexually enlightened age, Tracy and Lilly, who came from a good family, and who much to the regret of Teddy and myself, were not accustomed to sleeping with their boyfriends, not even long terms ones.
Whether Tracy and Lilly shared a room with a double or two single beds did not matter. But I was not keen to share a double bed with Teddy and I’m sure the sentiment was reciprocated.
I’m also sure the hotel staff thought this was all done for appearances and that we would re-arrange ourselves after checking in. Sadly they were wrong.
The rooms were neat and clean and smelled of lavender. The white porcelain washbasins and ornately styled chromium taps gleamed.
Getting ready for dinner was a long process. Not long for Teddy and I, but both Tracy and Lilly were meticulous about the application of their make up. So while the girls applied their war paint, we went over the route plan for the next day.
The little restaurant in the Lion d’Or was crowded with local families and we soon found out why. The food and the service were first class and the price was very low for the quality we received. We chose a set price menu, which we selected while getting ourselves in the mood with a Kir aperitif. The meal started with onion soup. Next came a delicious pate. After this we were given a sorbet made from a liqueur, to clear the pallet, before attacking the main course, which was lamb served with fresh vegetables. Next came a cherry tart, then the cheese board and finally coffee. We splashed out on an after dinner brandy, before departing for a walk around the town.
The town was unexpectedly lively and we were treated to a magnificent firework display. Some of the fireworks were set off from rafts moored in the middle of the Marne. The display seemed far too elaborate to have been put on especially for a few passing tourists and it seemed unlikely that so many of the local population would turn out in such force for the benefit the tourist industry. This indeed turned out to be the case, since we subsequently found out that the fourteenth of July was Bastille day.
The next day after eating a generous helping of fresh croissants and drinking some excellent coffee, in the same restaurant as we had eaten in the evening before, we returned to our rooms to pack.
Since Teddy and I did not need to make any final adjustments to our make up, we were waiting in the small hotel lobby for a good thirty minutes before Tracy and Lilly appeared.
During this spare half an hour, I watched fascinated as our waiter from the night before cleaned glasses and cutlery in preparation for the next meal. I have never seen such care taken to ensure every item was pristine. The glasses had already been washed, but he held up each one in turn and examined it carefully in the light. He then set to work with his tea towel, removing smears and polishing each glass until it sparkled like a crystal chandelier. The knives, forks and spoons received similar attention.
Although the restaurant was quite small with about fifteen tables, I guessed that the time he dedicated to each item, would mean that he would not finish with much time to spare before the lunch time sitting
Watching the care that went into this task explained partly why the meal the previous evening had been so good. Clearly this restaurant excelled at paying attention to every detail, not just the cooking, which in itself had been something worth writing home about.
If there was a defining moment when I could say I became a Francophile, it undoubtedly happened during that 30 minutes in the lobby of the Lion d’Or at Joinville.
During the day as we headed South we stayed on a route further West than on my previous trips.
Not long after leaving Joinville, we passed through a sizable village, where I encountered an orange flashing traffic light. I wasn’t sure what it meant, so I slowed a bit and looked out extra hard for pedestrians who might cross the road, but otherwise ignored it.
A few seconds after passing the light we were overtaken by a gendarme on a motorcycle, who signalled for us to stop.
My terror or gendarmes had still not fully subsided since the incident many years previously, with the gun wielding traffic cop in Grasse. On this occasion I was greatly relieved when the gendarme walked round to the passenger side of the car and gave Teddy a stern talking to.
We didn’t understand a word of what he’d said, but after a couple of minutes he left us alone and rode away on his motorbike. As we continued on our way, we tried to imagine what Teddy had done to cause such offence. Lilly accused him of having tossed away some rubbish, which he hotly denied. Then Tracy suggested he’d had his elbow stuck too far out of the window.
Eventually I realised that the gendarme probably thought he was talking to the driver, having failed to spot that we were in a right-hand drive car. Exactly what misdemeanour I could have committed without earning myself a fine, has remained a mystery to me ever since. Never mind, I quite enjoyed watching Teddy getting a good telling off.
Some hours later, we passed through Lyon and turned Eastward a little while after passing through Valence. The countryside started to get more mountainous as we started to ascend the western fringes of the Alps.
We stopped just after 6:00pm at a village called Serres, the surrounding landscape looked much more arid than I had previously encountered in France. We checked into another small hotel. The reaction to our sleeping arrangements was similar to that of the night before and I started to get the uncomfortable feeling that Teddy and I were suspected of being gay.
Compared with the previous evening, the bedrooms were rather dark and smelled a bit musty. The mattresses on the beds sagged somewhat, but the linen was clean.
The evening meal was good, but after the excellence of the previous evening, it seemed rather ordinary. Once more we set off for an after dinner stroll. It was by now quite late in the evening but it was still very hot.
We made our way up a very steep winding street and explored some of the alley ways which led off it. We passed the open front door of one small village house. The front door led straight into the kitchen, where everything was immaculate and could have been set up for a photo-shoot. A lady, presumably the owner sat relaxed in front of a television. On a nearby table lay a couple of baguettes and a selection of interesting looking cheeses.
The house looked to be in excellent condition which made it stand out from it’s neighbours and I suspected that maybe this was someone’s holiday home. I have to admit that I felt more than a little envious and wondered if I would ever be able to afford a French holiday home of my own.
By early afternoon of the next day we had reached Grasse. Exhausted from the driving, I rather hoped I could persuade my travelling companions to spend a couple of days around my old haunts, before we headed for Italy. We visited the Galimard perfume factory. This time there was no disgusting smell of rancid fat. The unpleasant smelling part of the process was now separated from the public by glass windows. All of the areas that visitors passed through now smelled fragrant.
It seemed that the visit to the perfume factory was more than enough to satisfy my companions curiosity about the Cote D’Azure. Despite my pleas that I needed a rest from driving and that there were lots of interesting places to visit locally, they were unbending. They were determined that we should continue immediately en route for Rimini. Frankly I lost my temper and in a fit of pique, drove at speeds that were faster than safe. Luckily I calmed down before we had any mishaps.
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