Early in 1985 Jane and I got married. The following year we had a baby daughter, who we named Sarah. A work posting to the USA and the new addition to the family caused my Francophilia to go on hold for a few years, even though Jane seemed to share much of my passion for things French.
My brother Dick mentioned that he was thinking of buying a house on the Mediterranean island of Cyprus. The conversation had lead me to decide that if I ever bought a house abroad, then the South of France would be my chosen location. I couldn’t quite understand the point of having a holiday home in northern France, since the weather in Normandy and Brittany tends to be as miserable as that in southern England.
In the spring of 1989 Jane mentioned that she had some spare funds, saved from her house sale, which had taken place when she originally moved in with me.
She agreed to contribute some of this money towards making our French dream a reality. It was not enough to cover all the outlay, especially when the cost of legal fees, repairs and furnishings were taken into account. But it was enough to make a healthy dent in the total anticipated bill.
Grasse is situated on the steep Southern slopes of the Alps. During the holidays of my youth we had been treated to spectacular views of the Mediterranean from the terrace of the villa. I already knew that properties in Grasse and all places nearby, were massively more expensive than our budget would run to.
I purchased a map and looked for locations in the South, which seemed to be at a similar elevation and distance from the sea as Grasse was. It was pretty obvious that the eastern side near the border with Italy was out out of the question. Names like Monaco and St. Tropez immediately conjuring up visions of huge luxurious yachts, casinos, film stars and fat bank accounts.
The centre of the Southern French Mediterranean coast around the Camargue seemed to be completely flat. In fact I already pretty much knew this to be the case, from my previous visit there with Jane and Jasmine. On that occasion the furthest West we had travelled had been Montpellier, which because of the traffic, I had viewed as an obstacle, rather than a place to admire.
Books were borrowed from the library, which allowed the climate of the various regions of France to be analysed. This information combined with research into the terrain, relative prices and required facilities had indicated that the Languedoc Roussillon region would be our target area.
The only places which appeared to fit the bill were in the Pyrenese, near Perpignan and the border with Spain. Although this area seemed favourite, conversations with Dick, who was now also considering a second home in the South of France and a study of Estate agents offerings, were suggesting that better value for money was to be found around Beziers. From the maps it was clear that the landscape around Beziers was nothing like that of Grasse. I was not totally deterred, but decided to check out both the Beziers and Perpignan areas.
Through the pages of Exchange and Mart, Loot and other sources, agents were contacted, appointments made, initial finances were put in place and the hovercraft was booked for the second week of September.
The few weeks prior to our departure were spent stocking a plastic storage box with small toys, colouring books and felt tipped pens, to keep Sarah who was then three years old, amused on the journey South.
For Sarah the acquisition of these items, built up her anticipation of the holiday in a big way. I often found her fondling the contents of her box. It was a struggle to prevent her playing with her goodies, before departing. I realised we would have to ration what she could open and play with each day, or the value of the box would be squandered in a few hours. We also obtained some nursery rhyme cassette tapes to help keep her amused.
The night before our departure I went through my check lists to make sure we were prepared. The car was washed and topped up with petrol. Tickets and passports were in order. Suitcases were ready and loaded in the boot. Sarah’s toy box was wedged in the space on the floor, immediately in front of her ‘child seat’ in the rear passenger compartment.
I set the alarm for 2:30am and tried to sleep. It was hopeless. What if the alarm didn’t go off? I did eventually get some sleep, but need not have worried about the alarm. I woke up a minute or so before it rang. My body clock has always been excellent, unless damaged by the influence of too much alcohol. Jane and I washed and dressed and carried Sarah to the car. It was a clear night as we left North West London and headed through the City centre toward the English South coast.
Jane is a very laid back person, but I’m not. We arrived at Dover more than an hour before we needed to. The high price of petrol in France was notorious, so I topped up the fuel tank, then spent some more of the spare time fitting lens deflectors and painting my headlights amber, as was required by French law at that time.
We boarded the first hovercraft on that Friday morning to Calais. We left the car in the parking bay and headed for the seating area where we strapped ourselves in. Sarah was still fast asleep and lay sprawled across both our laps. Good morning our ‘pilot’ announced. ‘This morning the sea is calm and we will be flying at an altitude of twelve feet. The flight will take approximately 30 minutes’.
I guessed that airline pilots get paid more than ferry boat captains and that this guy was trying to associate himself, with the more lucrative profession.
The engines started and the machine lifted, vibrating into the air. As we glided down the concrete slip way onto the water, I wondered how many bits would fall off my car as a result of the shaking. I was glad my vehicle was less than a year old and that we had taken out ‘Five Star’ breakdown cover, with the AA. I felt slightly sorry for some of my fellow travellers, who from the look of their cars were travelling on a tighter budget than ours.
We arrived at Calais at the time predicted and quickly disembarked. Despite my reservations the car was undamaged. We went through passport control and were on our way. Some two hours later we were approaching Paris. The traffic was quite heavy.
I was driving and Jane was map reading. She did a good job, in that this time we went around the Peyriphique in the direction we had planned, but we did get off it at the wrong port (exit). Of course when driving one is perfect and the map reader is an idiot. So it was all Jane’s fault.
It didn’t take long to discover our mistake and by some miracle we quickly got back on track. We stopped at a service station to fill up the petrol tank and have something to eat. I was amazed and somewhat disappointed to find that the only hot food on offer was a hot dog. Since we were all famished we ordered the hot dogs anyway.
Luckily it turned out that the French had asserted some of their national characteristics on the hot dogs. Instead of a soggy bun with a slit through it, housing an emaciated limp sausage, we were served with a baguette, with a hole through it’s centre. The limp sausage resided in the hole, along with a squirt of tomato ketchup. What a pity they hadn’t gone the whole hog and put a proper chunky French sausage and some moutard de Dijon in it.
We had made a conscious decision to follow the Peage (toll roads) as far as we could, despite the cost, so that we could use as many days as possible for house hunting purposes. We were now on a Peage and I handed the driving over to Jane and tried to get some sleep.
Paris was now well behind us and given that we had not been to France for a while, we were not sure how easy it would be to find accommodation, so we left the peage early at about three pm to start our search for a Hotel. Two hours later we had booked in at the Lion D’Or at Montlucon, which we discovered is a charming town, with a pleasant pedestrianised area, ideal for an evening pre-dinner stroll. No doubt I chose this hotel because of it’s name and my memories of the Lion D’or in Joinville.
Later the five course meal in the hotel confirmed that France was still the place to come to for great food. I recall that all the courses were excellent, but I particularly liked the fish mousse, it also surprised me to discover that cheese can taste exceptionally good, if well kept. It had not occurred to me before that it was possible to look after, or neglect, a cheese. As far as I could tell the difference was caused by either not refrigerating the cheese or at least not letting it get as cold as it would in a conventional fridge. Somehow refrigeration seems to kill off some of the aromas and flavours, even when refrigerated cheese is warmed up to air temperature again.
The next morning, the day got off to a good start with oven warm croissants, baguettes, beurre gastronomique, local conserves and a large cup of dark cafe au lait.
I still don’t understand why it is that in England, despite using the same coffee beans and equipment, the coffee never tastes nearly as good as when you drink it in France. Mind you it is also even more difficult to find good fish and chips in France than it is in England. Every country has it’s plus points, but France seems to have them in abundance.
As we continued our journey on the second day of our holiday, we noted the rising temperature and how much more interesting the scenery became once South of Clermont Ferrand. We also noted that the wasps were getting bigger. The peage ended and I took over the role of driver again, as we wound our way through the picturesque Auvergne on single lane roads. We stopped at Millau for Sarah to be sick and to have a late snack lunch. Baguettes again, but this time full of delicious ham.
After climbing the winding hill out of Millau, we drove for a while over the plateau de Larzac with its interesting rock formations, before beginning the lengthy descent on winding, single carriage way roads, onto the Languedoc plain. The air became rich with the smell of wild herbs and the sounds of chattering insects, the temperature climbed even further. I already knew that I could not leave, until we had made this our second home.
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