The quickest way from Bormio to Champoluc is to head to Milan on the autostrada. Bit boring though. We stayed close to the Swiss border which ended up being a great drive although it took us two days. We passed through Livigno on the way where we spotted yellow snow. Traditionally, you are warned not to eat yellow snow, but this was a different type of yellow. This discoloured snow was caused by Saharan dust picked up by the wind, in particular the Foehn wind, and carried high over Europe before being dumped on the alps. I pondered all the times we had driven in the Sahara kicking up the dust and wondered if there might be a connection. The dust makes the ski slopes look a bit of a mess and is probably illegal in Switzerland.
Halfway point was by Lake Maggiore, another of the great northern Italian lakes. Just as we arrived the downpour began. Rain such as is rarely seen along with thunder, lightning and all the trimmings. We had a perfect covered balcony so we could look out across the water and enjoy the show. For the best part of two hours, rain was bouncing off the road while lightning sparked all around the lake and the air was filled with the sound of deep, rolling thunder. We ate our take-away pizza, drank some wine, and relished the ambience of our small, sheltered corner.
Next morning, further south on Lake Maggiore, we hopped on a ferry. There was no good reason for this. We drove into Laveno-Mombello, saw the ferry boat, and decided to give it a go. We enjoy a ferry, lends a little sense of adventure to the day. Fortunately, this crossing did not take us out of our way, as happens sometimes. In fact, it may have helped reduce the drive a little.
A series of minor roads took us into the Aosta Valley while avoiding the autostrada. Finally, a right hand turn and we were winding up the small road towards Champoluc. and the Monte Rosa ski area. This is quite a popular ski area for Brits. Especially now when it is one of the few areas that still has snow. The lifts can carry you through three valley systems to the south of Monte Rosa. This provides ample scope for a wide range of skiing. You can pay extra for one additional cable car to get access to the “free-ride” area. In other words, open, un-pisted and essentially uncontrolled mountainside. Snow conditions were such that no-one was skiing up here. Repeated freeze-thaw had made the snow hard and crusty. Nasty stuff. Best avoided.
Meanwhile, back on the prepared slopes, conditions were not too bad. I had several good days of skiing. By the afternoons all the slopes were turning to slush. The sort of stuff that grabs at your skis and is tiring work. Mornings were best and although the slopes were quite crowded, many of the skiers were having lessons. Once I had found the slopes that were not used for ski school, I could get on with enjoying myself and the mountains. Diane came up to take in the scenery on a couple of days. The warm sun might not have been ideal for the snow slopes, but it was great for sitting out on a deck chair. With a grinding inevitability, our last day arrived. I took one last schuss around the slopes and met Diane for a lazy lunch. We took the lift down together – this seemed the safer option that risking the wet, heavy and difficult melting snow on the lower slopes again.
Next day we set off for Denmark. First part of the trip was the top end of the Aosta Valley and then through the Mont Blanc tunnel. The autostrada runs up to the tunnel and provides a fast, straightforward way to get to France. However, there are many tunnels so if you actually want to see the top end of the valley you need to take the slow road. This is my preferred route. It takes more time but the views are terrific. Some of Europe’s greatest mountains crowned by Mont Blanc which towers over the end of the valley. Then we were through Chamonix and over the Montets pass to Martigny in Switzerland. The evening found us in an excellent apartment overlooking Lake Leman. Next day we drove through Geneve and then aimed north over the wonderful Jura mountains. We paused briefly in Luxembourg and then plodded on through Germany. Two days later we crossed the Keil canal and arrived in Denmark.
December means Christmas is coming. This usually gives me an urge to leave the country. I am not so bothered about Christmas, never really have been. It is a family affair and in our family that did not seem to ever work too well. The problem however, my problem, is that I feel that I cannot be allowed to be indifferent to Christmas. There are many celebrations that I am not too bothered about, but which do not cause me a problem. Easter can pass me by without a chocolate bunny, on Burns night the haggis is optional and for Bonfire night I can choose to stay in without someone stashing gunpowder in the cellar. I leave them alone, they leave me alone, everyone is happy. With Christmas, I am not allowed to do this. We even have special words, derived from the absurd Dickensian Christmas fantasy, for people who will not conform. It is all-in. Like Marmite, love it or hate it, you cannot be ambivalent. The media starts its assault in November and by December is in full flood. Christmas this, Christmas that, Christmas the other and if you are not positively enthusiastic then “Bah! Humbug!” is the cry of shame you will be marked with. It is too much for me. Sometimes it feels like a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. You may recall, when the pod-people encounter an unconverted human they point and scream. In this case one inadvertent disparagement of joyous noel brings forth the wagging fingers and the derisory “Bah! Humbug!”. Objectively, when I consider Christmas, I see a little religion and a massive amount of media hype. In all honesty, I am not too keen on either so each year, in November, the cross-channel ferry starts calling me. Obviously, despite Brexit, they still celebrate Christmas in the rest of Europe, but they don’t seem to make such a meal of it. What is more, if I am very lucky, I can get to ski instead of eating mince pies.
We took the Hull to Rotterdam ferry. This is our favourite way across to Europe. Short drive to Hull, meal, bar, sleep, breakfast, and you are good to go. This time we started off with a brief visit to Antwerp. Never been there before. Well, visited once on business but seeing just a hotel and an office does not really count. This time we wanted to spend a couple of days exploring. We found a nice enough place to stay a few kilometres outside the centre. Antwerp is busy, expensive, has tiny roads and barely any parking. We found it best to keep the car far from the centre and instead use the cheap and easy tram system.
Drinks on the ferry
Antwerp is mostly famous for chocolate and diamonds. It seemed sensible to keep Diane away from the diamonds, so we went to look at a chocolate exhibition. We both like a bit of chocolate and quite enjoyed learning about the history of chocolate and how it is made. Climax of the trip was a tasting involving a dozen or so distinct types of chocolate. The chocolate was being stirred in warm vats and we got to pour out a spoonful of each. Basic chocolate is either dark, milk or white. But, as I discovered there is now, in just the last few years, a new type of ruby chocolate. This is made from ruby cocoa beans and has a pink colour. The experts debate whether this is really a new type of chocolate – but it does taste rather good.
Mighty organTomb of Isabella of Bourbon
Wandering around Antwerp we found many museums and Christmas markets. We did our best to avoid both of these, but we did get lured into a couple of churches, How come churches do not put up Christmas decorations? We saw a few nativity scenes and lights on the outside but inside there was nothing. No tinsel on the pews, no plastic penguins on the altar, not a bauble on the lectern and the choir boys were not wearing Santa outfits. The Cathedral of Our Lady was our first dive into catholic artistic overindulgence. Many paintings by the Dutch Masters of which Rubens was prominent. He spent much of his life in Antwerp, so I imagine it was handy for the local cathedral that the paintings did not have to be sent far. The cathedral also sports some terrific stained-glass windows, the excessively ornate tomb of Isabella of Bourbon and a mighty organ. Sadly, there was no-one around to play it. The Sint-Pauluskerk church was a much more modest affair in terms of touristic hype and entry fee but, nonetheless, sported what was possibly a better array of paintings. Rubens must have been terribly busy at times. Next morning, our interest in churches sated for the next few years, we left Antwerp and set a course south.
Rubens
We stayed in a gypsy caravan guarded by a fierce looking sheep. Then we spent my birthday in a little cabin with a lovely view and a hot tub. Diane enjoyed the hot tub, but I discovered that the high level of chlorine in the water played havoc with my skin and made me itch for days. South through France the weather was consistently terrible. Very wet and windy. Arriving at the Jura mountains we found the remains of snow being washed away by the rain. No chance of skiing here. We did however, find a lovely hotel restaurant that served us a fantastic fondu with morel mushrooms.
We pushed on south through the Alps, in the rain, and through the Fréjus Road Tunnel into Italy where the weather finally began to improve. At Oulx there was a lovely hotel in the mountains opposite a restaurant with the best pizza since the last time we were in Italy. Next day, in glorious sunshine, we crossed the Col de Montgenèvre back into France at Briançon and then south-west back to Italy over the fabulous Col de Larche.
By the evening we had arrived at Mondovi, a lovely little Italian town where we holed up for Christmas. Here we spent a few days pottering round and enjoying the tranquillity of a small mountain town.
We visited the old part of town, admired the architecture, climbed the clock tower and generally had a few very peaceful days. The apartment we had hired proved to be very nice and, as usual, we enjoyed cooking for ourselves. After three days we had done enough peacefulness and were ready to get back on the road.
Last November we went for a cruise with Helen and David. It all worked very well. Everyone enjoyed it. This November we thought we would do something similar but on a different ship and a different itinerary. First significant change was that we were sailing from Marseilles. To get there would be a short road trip. We like road trips. Helen organised this one. Diane and I had hoped for a gentle and relaxed journey. Not a chance. First day was a 6am start for a mad thrash down the motorways to Dover. Next morning saw us up at 6am, again, to catch the ferry. Toll motorways to Epernay. A short break to taste and buy champagne. Arrived at the rented bungalow late and crawled into bed. Next day things began to get easier. We had time for breakfast before a relatively easy drive to a lovely hotel in a big old, rambling building. The fabulous evening meal was a highlight but also came with a fabulous bill. And so, to Marseilles where we arrived in the evening and found absolutely nowhere to park. Fortunately, the hotel manager moved his car to give us space. This was a great relief because we were starting to wonder if we would need to a find a different hotel with enough space to unload David in his electric wheelchair. Seeing the progressive deterioration in Dave’s condition is always upsetting. There is also the very practical consideration that every aspect of his life just keeps getting harder. On the previous cruise we had been able to use a conventional wheelchair that could be lifted and man-handled. Now, David is totally dependant on his electric wheelchair. Great bit of kit but way too heavy to lift.
Next morning, we were welcomed onto our ship for the next ten days. The MSC Divina. Quite a bit older than our previous cruise ship, the MSC Virtuosa, but equally enormous. Our cabin was lovely. Nice sized double bed and a small balcony. Diane and I got settled in, Helen and David got settled in and then we all met for lunch and a glass of champagne. We were pleased that we had made it to Marseille with any real problems. Helen does not consider getting up at 6am as a problem. We were looking forward to some relaxing days with a little bit of indulgence. In the evening we sailed for Genova, all was good.
MarseilleGenoaFocaccia
From the port, Genoa is a solid, pressing mass of buildings going up the hillside around the docks. We found ourselves constrained to a narrow strip close to the coast. Beyond that the streets were just too steep. No matter, there was still plenty to see. I was delighted to come across a Focacciaria, a small shop selling variants of Focaccia Genovese – a light and tasty flat bread baked in big trays. This was served with a local pesto sauce. Genoa is famous for growing basil, the key ingredient of a traditional pesto. The result was, frankly, spectacular. Back on board by late afternoon, we broke out the cocktails as the ship left port in the evening sun. I discovered a cocktail with chilli and dried orange that was surprisingly good.
Genuine art or just a prop?Barcelona
Next day we arrived in Barcelona. Sunny, bright and colourful. We headed out to Las Ramblas street. Originally this was a sewage-filled stream forming an important drain especially during the heavy rains of spring and autumn. In 1440, the stream was diverted to be outside the newly built city walls and since then the street has become an increasingly popular hub of urban life. The street is very crowded but also wide and open. Since 1703 it has been lined with trees and although the open-air markets for birds and small animals have been banned since 2010 there are still a wide variety of birds, including parrots, flying around. Small stalls, market traders, entertainers and side shows abound. You can easily spend a full day wandering around, taking in the sights and sounds while nibbling at tapas from the enormous range of restaurants. This was exactly how we passed the afternoon before heading back to the ship to prepare for Africa.
We had a day at sea while we steamed towards Morocco. In the morning, I hopped out of bed with bare feet straight onto a wet carpet. Some problem with the bathroom plumbing apparently. I did not want to know the details and washed my feet anyhow. We moved to a fresh cabin on another deck. Of course, we had to pack up first and then unpack. This all took a couple of hours and was a bit irritating. In fact, irritation became a bit of theme for this ship. On the Virtuosa, the yacht club dining room was on a mezzanine level above the bar. Fabulous views and very convenient. Here on the Divina, it was at the other end of the ship. To get there with David meant taking a lift down nine levels, walking the length of the ship and then going back up nine levels. There were often queues for the lifts so this route could easily take ten minutes. Does not sound too bad until you consider ten minutes each way for three meals a day by which time you have wasted an hour. For all that, the restaurant was cramped and had no views at all.
Casablanca, if I am honest, is a bit tricky as a tourist destination. The largest city in Morocco is also the country’s economic and business centre. The port is enormous, but it is a working port. Thousands of containers being moved around, bulk carriers getting loaded, a steady flow of commercial vessels in and out. In the distance the city, a massive commercial block, rises out of the dusty gloom. It is not very appealing. A handful of the more dedicated tourists booked trips although even then it is probably an hour or two of driving to see anything interesting. Morocco is a fascinating place. Golden sand dunes, amazing mountains, vest seascapes and ancient buildings. The trouble is that none of these places are anywhere near Casablanca. Quite why the ship docked here is anybody’s guess but I am fairly sure it was not for the benefit of the passengers. Getting David onto a bus was going to be impossible and when Helen and David first attempted to disembark, they were told that the tide was too high. They did eventually get off. David got to step foot (wheel) in Africa. They walked down to the security fence and got a stamp for his passport and then that was Morocco and Africa done. Next stop, the Canary Islands.
Cassablanca
Tenerife is an immensely popular tourist destination. With five million visitors a year it is a major worldwide destination and one of the most important to Spain. The larger proportion of visitors are from the UK as it quite evident from the abundance of chip shops and Irish bars. The municipality of Adeje in the south of the island has the highest concentration of 5-star hotels in Europe and Spain’s best luxury hotel. For our part, we went for a walk round a park and ate some chips. Next day was supposed to be Madeira but a port pilot’s strike put paid to that so we had two days in Santa Cruz instead. This meant, come evening , that we could eschew the ship’s restaurant and sneak out for a curry. Turned out to be a properly excellent meal that we all thoroughly enjoyed. Next day Helen and Dave managed to have a fabulous day out in a taxi which was capable of taking the electric wheelchair. I don’t know the details, but they came back buzzing after being shown around the greater part of the island.
Hassan II Mosque
Late afternoon we sailed for Malaga. A two-day trip to the ever-popular Costa del Sun. Popular with the British that is. The trip was essentially uneventful. The sun shined. We explored alternative restaurants. Helen and Diane wallowed in the hot tub. I read a book.
We set off quite early to see Malaga and ended up on an open-topped tour bus. The pre-recorded commentary was desperately boring and delivered in a monotone. Rather than fall asleep I gave up with the earpiece and just looked as what was around us. Malaga seems to be quite a vibrant combination of beaches, bars, and restaurants surrounding a historic centre of narrow streets and old buildings. Having circumnavigated the city we hopped off near the port and attempted to find a restaurant, a tapas bar, that had been recommended to us. We did find it and so did several hundreds of other people. The queue was immense, so we gave up and settled for some perfectly delicious tapas at a smaller and less popular restaurant. The rest of the day was quite a long walk back to the ship where we started packing in preparation for returning to Marseilles the next day.
The return trip was easier. We even had time to stop off for a small tour round a champagne vineyard. Michel Fagot – possibly my new favourite champagne. We split the UK leg into a much more pleasant two days and all arrived back in Todmorden safely.
We had arranged to meet the indomitable Lars and Inge in France. They had driven from Denmark for the Le Mans 24. Last year we had found the crowds a but much at Le Mans so we just planned a short trip to meet up with our friends. While thinking about the best way to cross the channel, it occurred to us that we had never been to the Channel Islands. Using Condor ferries we could go Poole -> Guernsey -> St Malo and come back via Jersey. This is how we found ourselves, a few days later, on a high speed trimaran doing 35 knots towards Saint Peter Port.
Guernsey was a bit damp and overcast. We had a ride around the island. This did not take long, it is only about 10 km across in any direction. There were a few nice beaches and coves linked by a myriad of small roads. My overall impression was to do with how compact the whole place is. Houses and buildings everywhere. Not a square inch of space going to waste anywhere. If you ever wanted to get away from it all don’t come here. The hotel was lovely and very welcoming. In the morning, we went round the island the other way, just in case we had missed anything, and hopped onto the ferry to St Malo.
Saint Malo
The old part of St Malo looms impressively above the port as a solid block of four story stone buildings. It is surrounded by a large wall and you enter through one of the impressive gateways. Inside is a labyrinth of cobbled street, small shops, restaurants and bars. We stayed at the Hotel Nautilus, right in the centre. Recommended. The owner is very friendly and helpful. He has a small garage, where he keeps his Harley and where we could also park our bike overnight. Just up the road was a wonderful vegetarian restaurant. We sat at a table on the cobbles and Diane had to move her chair in occasionally to let cars past. The food was terrific, tasty and imaginative. Finally, we took a stroll round the ramparts to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Heading east from St Malo for a couple of hours brought us to the town of Falaise, birthplace of William the Conqueror, first of the Norman Kings of England. Just south of here is a small, converted barn that we had rented for a couple of nights. Lar and Inge, still driving the 1975 Volvo 303, arrived and hour or so later. We sat up until late around the barbeque chatting and catching up. Back in Falaise, the next day, we explored the castle and ended up having a big history lesson. The castle has been partially renovated but also patched up using modern materials. We were each given an iPad through which, in each of the castle’s many rooms, you could view how it might have looked back in Norman times. A combination of virtual reality and augmented reality that was really quite effective. We learnt how William, a direct descendant of Rollo the Viking, consolidated Normandy before taking the English crown after the battle of Hastings. England and Normandy and a large area of France remained a single kingdom, the Angevin Empire under the control of the House Plantagenet, until the Wars of the Roses in the late 15th century. I sometimes think modern politicians could do with a better understanding of long and common history of France and England. The day was rounded off with cheese toasties and beer sitting outside a classic café. Perfect.
History lessonsFalaise castleMont Saint Michel
In the morning we breakfasted on “Eggs in purgatory” – eggs poached in a spicy tomato sauce with chunks of fresh, crusty bread. Lars and Inge set off to explore some of the WW2 sites in Normandy while Diane and I headed for the evening ferry to Jersey. Along the way we followed the coast and came across Mont Saint Michel – a striking looking island, abbey and fortress that rises steeply from the sea. Sadly we did not have time to visit but we did collect a small bottle of Calvados from one of the many local sellers.
Previously I only knew a few things about Jersey such as Jersey butter, Jersey milk, Jersey cream and Jersey Royal potatoes. This led me to imagine Jersey as being predominantly fields of happy cows interspersed with potato patches. The reality is more like a massive and spread out housing estate full of old people. Bailiwick of Jersey is a self-governing British Crown Dependency. It is not part of the UK – as my phone provider was keen to point out just after slapping me with a load of roaming charges. Jersey was part of the Duchy of Normandy and remained loyal to England when Normandy was lost to the English Kings in the 13th century but never became part of the Kingdom of England. Being on the border between England and France, the island was at the fore in the Anglo-French wars and was invaded several times up to the end of the Napoleonic wars. In WW2 the island was invaded and held by the Germans for five years. The main source of income for Jersey is financial services, not cows. In fact, we never saw a cow in the two days we were there. I now suspect that name ‘Jersey’ is given to a breed of cows and that Jersey milk comes from Jersey cows that have never been anywhere near Jersey. Anyhow, Jersey is one of the world’s largest offshore finance centres and has often been accused of being a tax haven. Agriculture accounts for just 1.2% of the island’s GVA. There are some interesting signs of the money around the island. Public toilets for example. Something which appears to be rapidly going out of fashion in most of the UK. Clean, well kept, free to use, public toilets. Very handy. Also parking space by the beaches, coves and harbours. Free parking up to twelve hours. Lovely. A few odd things as well such as the expensive sports cars on a tiny island with a maximum speed limit anywhere of 40 mph. I can see the appeal as a retirement location, if you can afford it (average house price £567,000). Mild climate, nice little beaches, quiet pace of life, comfortable life style mixing with other retirees who are similarly comfortably off.
Calvados
At the top, right-hand corner of the island we found a pair of immense wicker-work puffins. Momentarily excited at the prospect of seeing real puffins we read the associated plaques and discovered that, these days, the iconic Atlantic Puffin colonies of Jersey are down to just 4 breeding pairs. Fishing, pollution and rats are blamed.
La Thuile is a lovely little alpine town tucked up to the side of the Aosta valley in the far top, left hand corner of Italy. In the summer, you can drive the Little St Bernard Pass, 2188 m, to La Rosière in France. During the winter, the roads are closed but ski lifts still link the two towns. Many of the runs are at high altitude and so were holding the snow quite well. I enjoyed myself immensely by skiing over to France for a coffee in the morning before heading back to Italy for a late lunch with Diane. La Thuile lurks in the bottom of a steep and spectacular valley. Looks great but does not get a lot of sun. Diane much preferred to get the first big ski lift up out of the cold valley and into the sunshine and fabulous views.
French/Italian border
There was no more snowfall. In fact, during our entire two month stay in the Alps there was only one significant dump of snow. Even that was quite modest. In a more normal year there would be snow every week. By way of a silver lining, the sunshine was terrific. On our second day the skies were spotlessly clear and the sun was blazing. Ideal conditions for a trip up the Skyway Monte Bianco, a fantastic cable car from Courmayeur to Pointe Helbronner, at 3466 m on the southern side of the Mont Blanc massif. Since I was last up there, a new cable car has been built. Took four years, was completed in 2015 and, at the time, was the most expensive cable car in the world. The hanging cabin rotates as it ascends so everyone gets an all-round view.
Monte Bianco
The visible scenery from Pointe Helbronner is really quite remarkable. It is well worth investing a few hours to absorb it all. Monte Bianco (Mont Blanc) is very close. Slightly further away are the Matterhorn, Gran Paradiso and Monte Rosa. Looking round, you can see hundreds of significant peaks many of which are the setting for amazing stories of mountain heroics and achievements. The thin air is freezing cold and takes your breath away. The sun bores into your eyes and frost forms in your nose as your imagination soars and you take in the full majesty and grandeur of the incredible massif. Then you can pop downstairs to the warm, cosy bar for a beer. At 3pm the station closes. Everyone is herded back down the mountain. I think we were among the last to leave.
Two days later and the weather was still perfect. We decided to have a day trip to Chamonix. Despite four weeks there, we never took the cable car to the Aiguille du Midi because the weather was never good enough. It is quite an expensive trip and really, it is worth waiting for a good day to make the best of the views. We nipped through the 11.6 km Monte Banc tunnel and arrived in France. Unusually, we were pulled over by some French customs officers. Were we bringing any tobacco or alcohol from Italy? We explained our mission. The officer grinned at me conspiratorially, and asked “not even a little Limoncello?” before waving us on our way.
The Aiguille du Midi cable car, at 3842 m, is higher than the Italian Skyway. It is also quite a bit older, smaller and does not rotate. Nonetheless, it is every bit as spectacular and capable of taking your breath away. I first visited this peak in 1981 and have been back sporadically ever since. Most recently, Diane and I came up here in 2008, which is not that recent I suppose. Anyhow, we were here with a group that skied across the Vallée Blanche and all the way down the Mer de Glace to the railway station at Montenvers. That was a terrific day out. Today, our ambitions were much more modest and allowed plenty of time for standing around gawking at the view. Like Pointe Helbronner, this is somewhere I can happily spend many hours lost in the views of mountains, snow, ice and rock. There is similarly a pleasant bar here and even a plush restaurant. On the way back down we stopped off at the mid-point station where there is a lovely little bar in a wooden hut. We could contemplate the setting sun while sipping vin chaude – this is a pretty good way to end a day.
Serre Chevalier is a lovely ski area in the southern part of the French Alps. We had heard rumours of snow earlier. In fact, it was looking like one of the best places in the Alps for a bit of skiing. The month in Chamonix had been a spectacular failure, ski-wise, so we were hoping for some change. Also, we both had a terrible cold over the New Year. Not covid, we tested repeatedly, but irksome all the same and stubborn to leave the chest.
Feeling much healthier and more optimistic, we arrived at Briançon in the rain. Undeterred, I went for a walk round the old part of the city while Diane telephoned some people. An hour later I was soaked and Diane was bored, so we had coffee and pizza at the bakery across the road. The chalet we had rented turned out to be compact but very cosy and well appointed. As darkness fell the rain turned to snow and we settled down with a bottle of local wine in hushed anticipation.
Next day there was snow. A good healthy dump overnight and it was still snowing. A few hardy souls were digging out their driveways and the only cars moving were sporting snow chains. Fortunately, the owner of the chalet had let us park the Jaguar in an underground car park. It is a beautiful car and a joy to drive but completely unsuitable for the Alps in winter. Low profile tyres and rear wheel drive are terrific on dry roads but quite the opposite of what you want on icy roads. We cannot even fit snow chains, there is not enough clearance. We had done what we could to prepare. Proper winter tyres are not only important but also mandatory in some areas. I had bought some snow socks, a sort of fabric equivalent of chains, but hoped we would not need to use them.
Car forgotten, I could finally get some nice skiing done. Everywhere was open. All the lifts were running. There was fresh snow. Happiness.
That was the last fresh snow we saw for the next three weeks. Mostly it was just sunshine. This is rather lovely for being out and about in the mountains. I find, as age encroaches, that I cannot ski all day, every day so I’ll often alternate rest days and go somewhere with Diane. After last year’s broken hip, she is quite adamant about not skiing again. A sentiment I am inclined to encourage. So we go for walks, explore the area and have the odd drive out. For three euros you can buy a day pass for the bus running between Briançon and Le Monêtier-les-Bains. This stops at all the ski areas, shops and the massive thermal spa at Monêtier. Great way to explore the valley an occasionally, Diane would use the bus to come and meet me for lunch.
Alpine zip wirePelvoux
We also went up some of the cable cars together. After a couple of weeks of sunshine the slopes were starting to get a bit thin and icy again. It was nice to travel without skis and instead take my full sized camera. The camera is a bit too big to comfortably carry while skiing. I enjoyed pottering around a little and being able to concentrate on the view while trying to capture some sense of it with the camera. I was particularly struck by one mountain, called Pelvoux, which I had climbed over forty years ago with Mark and Andy. In the ensuing time it appears to have become much steeper, higher and generally fiercer looking.
Traversee du PelvouxMark and Andy on the Violettes GlacierMe (back in the day…)
Chamonix has long been a focal point for alpine activities. Mountaineering, climbing, walking, running, skiing, snowboarding, cycling, paragliding, hang gliding and all the other games people have dreamt up to play in the Alps. Chamonix is also home to Mont Blanc which, at 4,808m is the highest mountain in Western Europe. This all sounds very promising for a visit and often the area is fantastic for all things alpine. However, sometimes it just rains.
We had hoped for a snowy Christmas with plenty of skiing and amazing views but mostly what we got was rain. I did ski, on my birthday, but it was hard work. A lot of work can go into keeping a ski area open because the consequences of closing can be severe. Ticket refunds, whole holiday refunds, loss of income, loss of reputation and so on. With a combination of shovelling snow around and making artificial snow, they try very hard to stay open. However, to be open, they really only need one run. This was the situation in Chamonix. Each of the four ski areas really just had one run open. Without fresh snow these soon become very icy and they were also crowded. Fewer people will be skiing than in good conditions but everyone is confined to just a single run. Icy and crowded can make for a dangerous combination and frankly, not much fun.
Mont Blanc
We found some other things to do. Walks in the valley, trips into town and a few drives to explore the area. The weather stayed unremittingly bad, even raining high up on the remains of the ski slopes. Another consequence of the damp and cloudy weather was an almost complete lack of views. We had hired a little apartment on the south side of the valley. On the odd occasion that the ski cleared we had sunshine and some fantastic views of the mountains. Not just Mont Blanc on the right but also the whole of the Midi-Plan ridge across to the Dru on the left. Every once in a while the mountains would reveal themselves to us and I enjoyed myself trying to photograph them.
One day the weather was nice. We took the cable car up to Brévent. A few braves souls were skiing the single slope there. We were happy to take in the views and watch the colourful paragliders floating around. Across the other side of the valley, the Aiguille du Midi was beckoning. The cable car up to the viewing platform, 3,842m, is one of the highest in Europe. We went up there over a decade ago when we skied 20km down the Vallée Blanche to Montenvers. It is a bit of an extreme place and well worth a visit. When the weather is good the views are quite incredible. However, if it clouds over you will not see a thing. Sadly, we did not get another clear day and so, after one of the warmest festive periods on record, we left Chamonix in search of snow elsewhere.
We went on a cruise. David, husband of my baby sister Helen, had a cruise on his bucket list. Diane and I are not really cruise people but we thought we might enjoy a short one. So between us, we found a good deal on a short trip around the English Channel on board the MSC Virtuosa. First step was to drive to Southampton. We stayed at the Southampton Harbour hotel. Good hotel. Friendly and accommodating with an excellent breakfast. When we first arrived, we drove right up to the front door, which helped a lot with David and our great pile of luggage. The hotel parked the cars for us while we on the ship and shuttled us to and from the ship. Room was comfortable and we had a nice view over the marina. Top marks.
We had paid a bit extra for some nice cabins. This also meant that when we arrived at the cruise terminal, we were fast tracked through security and the other formalities. I’ll admit that we did quite enjoy this but more seriously it made things a lot more comfortable for David. Once onboard, our first impressions were very positive. The cabin was terrific. Plenty of space and nice little balcony. Helen and Dave had a lovely cabin as well. Also, it had a walk-in shower and a few other adaptations to make life a bit easier for them. Later, we reconvened in the bar where we discovered free champagne and nibbles. Of course, when I say ‘free’, I mean that they were included in the rather substantial ticket price but it felt like free which was good enough. I suspect one of the pleasures of cruising is that it takes you off into a different and, temporarily, better sort of world.
First stop was Brest in France. It rained. It seriously rained. We went into town, walked around for a couple of hours, got very wet then headed back to the ship. In the evening we explored the rest of the ship. The MSC Virtuosa only came into service a year ago. It is brand new. It is big as well, 182,000 tonnes, that means, up to 6,000 passengers being looked after by 1,700 crew. It is equipped with all the modern cruise ship facilities such as bars, restaurants, swimming pools, gym, games, casino, shops and on and on. You can easily lose several hours just wandering round. Fortunately, we had picked a week after the school holidays and before the Christmas markets, when the vessel not so many people were cruising. Our cabins were at the front of the ship in a relatively small area referred to as the ‘Yacht Club’. The area was at well less than half capacity, which made it quiet and peaceful.
Next day was supposed to be Cherbourg but the weather was too bad. Cruise ships tend to avoid bad weather. They are sea-worthy and generally capable of dealing with strong winds and big seas but this is not what the passengers expect. On commercial ships it is not uncommon for the vessel to roll sufficiently to spill your coffee and send your plate sliding across the table. However, cruise passengers are not salty sea-dogs and would worry if their cocktail glass were not finely balanced. So, on passengers ships there are often stabilisers on the hull look like little wings and steady the ship against the ocean swell. These work up to a point. The sides of the ship stop a lot of wind. Again this can be compensated for by the stabilisers and by using ballast water but only to a point. So we skipped Cherbourg and spend two days at sea heading, slowly, towards Hamburg. Up on the top deck is a swimming pool, a hot tub and an open air bar. In fine, sunny weather this would be lovely. However, with cold rain blowing horizontally across the deck it was less pleasant. Helen is a fell runner and is completely unphased by horizontal rain so we gave the hot tub a go. Fortifying ourselves with champagne definitely helped.
A local taxi driver gave us a short tour of Hamburg. It is a big city with two million inhabitants and 2,500 bridges – most bridges of any European city. The port area, third largest in Europe, is massive so it took us a while just to drive away from the cranes, ships and lorries into the centre. Hamburg is popular with tourists and has a large central shopping area. We wandered around for a while and David bought a couple of smart new shirts. Found a lovely little café for a late lunch, with beer and then headed back to the ship.
Bruges was the only place that MSC managed to provide genuinely wheelchair accessible transport. It was advertised for many of the excursions but, we discovered, what they really meant was the wheelchair user needed to get out of the chair and walk up the steps into a coach. Then they would put the wheel chair in the storage. Helen patiently explained to the MSC excursions people that David could not get up to walk and that wheelchair accessible normally meant accessible in a wheelchair. Eventually we got our money back but it was a bit annoying. The coach took us a short way along the coast to Blankenberge. From here we could get a train into the centre of Bruges. All felt like a bit of an adventure. The weather was greatly improved and Bruges was lovely. The main part of the town is a modest size and easily small enough to walk around. There are some lovely old buildings, many chocolate shops, souvenir shops and other tourist essentials. We all remarked on how clean the place is – no litter at all. After a bit of a general wander around we found ourselves in a bar. This was such a surprise that we had a beer. In fact we had several beers, small ones, arranged on a tray as a tasting set. It seemed appropriate to try several local brews as this particular bar had what they called a ‘beer wall’. A glass fronted wall supporting racks and racks of beer bottles. The wall is over 30m long and displays 1,250 different types of Belgian beers. This bar set the mood so when we arrived at the only local brewery actually in Bruges, we were primed to taste a whole bunch more beers along with a selection of cheeses. Doesn’t get much better.
Wheelchair accesible
Retracing our steps proved a little more problematic. We arrived back at Blankenberge to discover that the one wheelchair accessible coach had been sent home for the day. We waited patiently for over an hour while apologetic excursion people made many phone calls. Eventually, just as we were starting to get really cold, the coach arrived. The ship sailed on time but we only boarded five minutes beforehand.
Next day we were at Le Havre. This is quite a commercial port. Seems particularly busy with wind generators at the moment. Massive yards filled with turbine blades and other components. Opposite Le Havre, on the other side of the River Seine is the little city of Honfleur. We found a local taxi that would take us round there. The drive was quite interesting. We crossed over the impressive Pont de Normandie bridge. Our driver seemed particularly proud of this. Honfleur is a pretty place. The central area is a large collection of old buildings. Some dating back to the 15th century. Apparently Monet like to come here to paint. We particularly like the harbour area. When we first arrived, our very helpful taxi driver, pointed out the best place for lunch, ”where the locals eat”. So we booked a table and went for a stroll around. The centre of Honfleur is a very impressive wooden church built in the 15th century. The famous “Axe masters” of the naval yards of the city created this lovely building without using any saws, just like their Norman ancestors the Vikings before them. Shortly after this we found a shop specialising in truffles, which caught my attention. And then a shop selling just nougat, which caught David’s attention. Lunch was great but then we had to head back to the ship, which was sailing quite early so as to get back to Southampton the next morning.
Another item on David’s bucket list was a casino. So in the evening we got dressed up and headed down there. After a little looking around he settled on Black Jack as his game and invested in some chips. We ordered some vodka martinis and gathered round to watch. Helen needed to actually play the chips under Dave’s instructions. At some point in the proceedings he began calling her ‘Moneypenny’ despite the obvious risk of getting slapped. It took a while but eventually he lost all his money. In my experience this is what always happens at casinos and nobody was surprised. Dave was happy that he had played a casino and so we retired to the champagne to toast the end of good trip.
Then something very strange happened… we decided to sell Baloo. After four years and some great adventures, it is time to move on. We are still going to travel but without a truck. First job was to get unpacked. We brought Baloo back to the UK on the Eurotunnel. This is a cost effective way to get a truck sized motorhome across the English Channel. Eurotunnel have a simple charging scheme with just a single rate for motorhomes. Baloo was a bit of a squeeze but everything worked out. We arrived, on a typically overcast English morning, at Folkstone and set off north.
Car park near CalaisEverything we own – in storageEurotunnel
England is possibly one of the worst countries in Europe for travelling in a motorhome. Wild camping is technically illegal and in practice quite difficult. Quiet areas by the road are few and far between. Chances are that if you find somewhere then before long somebody will turn up to tell that you cannot stay. Even an overnight at a motorway service station will cost you £25 or a substantial fine. You really need to book somewhere to stay for every single night. Campsites are pretty hopeless for a truck like Baloo. The conversation generally goes fine until you mention 20 tons of 6×6 at which point the campsite owner thinks of what will happen to their nicely mown grass. Another option is “Britstops”. This is a scheme where places let you stay for free but hope that you will visit their pub, shop, café or whatever. There is a guidebook you can buy and sticker to show that you subscribe to the scheme however few locations take this too seriously. We used the “Park4Night” app (highly recommended) and after a few phone calls found a pub that was not put off by a 11.5m vehicle.
FerryTrainTrainTrainParis
Next day we arrived at my sister’s house and unloaded everything from Baloo into a storage unit. From there we drove to Hull, took the ferry to Europoort, and finally drove to the Unicat workshop in Dettenheim. Unicat are the only company that can sell Baloo. We said a few goodbyes and a couple of hours later were on the TGV from Karlsruhe to Paris.
Noisy under every bridgePole dancingBateau Mouch
We had used Airbnb to book at apartment in Paris. My main stipulation was that it should have air conditioning. Paris was going to be hot and I am a creature of the cold. We met Olivier, our host, at the address. He was clearly a man in a hurry and promptly took us to another address two doors down. “For security” he explained. Although this explained nothing to me. Diane was bundled into an extraordinarily tiny lift with our luggage and I tried to keep up with Olivier as he leapt, antelope like, up five flights of stairs. Lost him at the third and finally arrived at the apartment just after Diane. We were given a whistle-stop tour of the apartment and then he was gone. The apartment was nice enough and quite spacious. There was no air conditioning. Just windows. It was too late to do anything about this. The week was quite hot, for me, but we survived.
We took many selfies
Paris was wonderful. We kicked back, chilled out and did some very ordinary tourist things. The Bateau Mouche took us up and down the Siene river accompanied by several hundred school children. They discovered that if they screamed when the boat when under a bridge then the echoes made for a very loud noise. There was a pre-recorded sightseeing commentary but we never got to hear more than a couple of words before the next bridge would arrive. We hopped on and off the hop-on, hop-off open top bus and spent a lot of time sitting at pavement cafes sipping wine or coffee. One evening we saw the show at the Moulin Rouge. I have never seen so many bare boobs at one time. It was quite remarkable. Very expensive but worth a visit once in your lifetime. Possibly the high-light of Paris was a frantic drive with Max and his retro style sidecar. This was terrific fun and felt pretty cool as well. After a week we treated ourselves to a night in an air conditioned room near the Gare du Nord railway. It was blissfully cool. Next day we hopped on the train to Amsterdam.
North from Bordeaux brought us to Le Mans just as it was gearing up for the famous 24 hour motor race. This was no coincidence. We met up with the wonderful Lars and Inge and their magnificent Volvo 303. They had travelled directly from Denmark with some fellow Vikings to watch the race. Each year a quarter of a million people arrived from all over the world for this most famous of endurance races. A very large contingent comes from the UK. I am not sure quite why this race is so popular with Brits but they arrive in droves. For the last couple of years, Le Mans 24 has been behind closed doors and that made this year particularly busy. In fact the crowds were remarkable by comparison with any of the half dozen times I have been here before.
We had an allocated campsite and obviously Baloo took up two pitches. Everyone else got set up around us. Mostly small tents, some larger tents and a handful of motorhomes. Each person gets a pitch of just 5m by 7m. Each pitch is adjacent to the next so it gets very cosy very quickly. The Danes were right next to us and Brits on the other side. Baloo is registered with German number plates so it is often assumed that Diane and I are German. Such was the case at the campsite for a while. The Brits ignored us until someone picked up on Diane’s quite distinctive Yorkshire accent. Then they suddenly became quite friendly and asked to have a look inside the truck.
The main premise of the Le Mans 24 hour race is that winner is the car that drives furthest in 24 hours. It is the original endurance race. Most cars have three drivers, each doing stints of less than six hours. There are several classes of race car. The fastest class will do over 5,000 km at an average speed over 200 kph. The race is intense. Fast, hot, noisy, crowded. Part of the 13 km circuit is on normally public roads. These are closed and prepared for the race. On race day, it feels like the whole of the city gets involved.
A typical trip to Le Mans from the UK starts with a mad drive to France. Preferably in a fast car and preferably breaking many speed limits on the way. Once at the campsite the drinking starts. This is continuous until the race is over. Attendees are predominantly male which may account for the catering provisions – almost exclusively barbeque and beer. Sleep is optional. The return trip is often a little more sedate.
Friday was spent relaxing, drinking beer and watching the campsite blossom into a heaving and packed mass of tents, cars and people. Le Mans is all about the atmosphere. Several hundred thousand petrol-heads dedicated to fast cars and drinking beer. Although this might sound like a volatile situation there are very few incidents. Often fans show their support this or that race team or car manufacturer but it is more like a preference rather than an obsession. There is never any of the acrimonious rivalry that you might get at a football match. In the afternoon, the pits were opened up and we could look at the cars close up.
Saturday, 3pm, the race roared into life. At one time the drivers famously ran across the track to start their cars but these days a rolling start is the much safer option. The French air force flew over leaving a trail of colourful smoke. 60 colourful cars thundered down the track to the ubiquitous Dunlop bridge where we saw then at full speed for the first time. A Mexican wave of bobbing heads spread down a trackside absolutely packed with spectators. I needed to stand on tip-toes just to see the track. The noise is phenomenal. Ear defenders are essential. Then there is the smell, high performance racing fuel and burning rubber.
Things settled down a little after the first few laps but only a little bit. We wandered around the track. Had a cold but still overpriced, beer. Wandered round the track some more and generally mellowed into the race ambience. Eventually we looked at some of the commercial stands, considered eating some fries but got put off by the long queues and had a beer instead. A few hours later we reunited with Lars and Inge who we had lost somewhere near part of the track called Tertre Rouge. Overall, the track is 13.6 km long. This would be a good hike but I don’t think it is allowed to walk all the way around it.
Darkness comes late in the evening in June. We turned in around 10pm but then got up a couple of hours later, grabbed a bottle of wine and hopped on a bus to Arnage. One of the great corners of Le Mans. It might sound a bit strange to talk about a great corner but the cars come in here fast and have to negotiate a sharp right hander. At night you see a blaze of approaching headlights. The car turns in, brake discs glowing bright red with heat, tyres struggle to hold on, exhaust popping and flashing with unburnt fuel. In a flash it is past leaving that special smell of fumes and rubber. It is a great way to spend some time but I can imagine it is not for everyone.
We took second bus to Mulsanne and the end of the long straight. These days there is a chicane to slow the cars but even so they can still top 400 km along this stretch. For the brave, late brakers this can be good overtaking spot. Hitting the precise braking point at such a high speed is very difficult. Cars often end up weaving dramatically or even over shooting and crunching through the gravel before regaining the track. All fascinating to watch especially at night with the added drama of headlights, spotlights, floodlights, brake lights and flaming exhaust pipes.
A few more hours of sleep and we were into he closing acts of the race. Over a very late breakfast we tried to catch up by listening to the event radio. Fortunately, such is the size of the English presence here that there is a radio station entirely in English. The effects of 24 hours noise, sleeplessness and beer were making themselves felt. Many people were wandering around with an air of the zombie about them. Some had simply given up and gone to sleep. A few die-hards were still knocking back the beer. We made our way back to the track and watched the final few laps. The very last lap is really just a lap of honour. The cars slow down so the drivers can wave, the crowds applaud and the marshals wave their flags. A strange quietness descends.
Many spectators rush to leave as soon as the race finishes. There are long queues of traffic and many tired, irritable drivers. We chose to simply put our feet up and stay put while the crowds flowed past. Next day we were amongst the last of the stragglers to leave.
Descending a quite road on the French side of the Pyrenees, we came across a dam. There are many dams in the area but what caught my attention about this dam were the bear prints. Someone had painted bear paw prints all the way up the main dam wall. With a little bit of manoeuvring, I managed to park Baloo so that the prints on the wall lined up with the bear paw prints on the side of the truck. Many would regard this as a complete waste of time but I found it immensely satisfying.
Further down the road, the clouds and mist settled down around us. It began to lightly drizzle. I observed, as I have observed many times before, that when the cloud is low over the hills and it is raining that pretty much everywhere starts to look like Borrowdale in the English Lake District.
We parked up at Les Forges d’Abel. This is a disused railway station just on the French side of the border to Spain. It served the now defunct Pau–Canfranc railway and was the last station in France just before the Col du Somport tunnel. From here we took the motorbike over the Col du Somport to Canfranc. In particular, we wanted to have a look at the Canfranc International railway station. This rather remarkable station was opened in 1928 and is immense. It was intended to serve the border crossing and was built as a joint venture between France and Spain. Although cooperating on building a station, the two countries could not agree on a single railway gauge, so part of size of the complex comes from the need for extensive shunting, customs and goods handling area. The actual station in 240m long and has 365 windows. In 1970 the French side of the line was closed following a serious derailment that destroyed a major bridge. It was never re-opened. The station suffered years of neglect with only a couple of trains a day arriving from the Spanish side. Then, after much campaigning from various sectors, it was announced in 2020 that the EU would make funding available to restore the station and re-open the international line.
When we visited, the restoration work appeared to be well underway. There are no through trains yet but the main station building is coming back to life. Part of this will be a hotel and international conference centre. Should be a very sumptuous and interesting place to stay one day.
On the way back we explored a couple of narrow roads that turned into tracks. Eventually we came back over the Col du Somport to our disused railway station. The main road here goes through a tunnel under the col. It is long, straight, dark and boring. We saw several groups of motorcyclists heading through the tunnel. Don’t do it guys. Take the high road. Over the Col du Somport is a lovely scenic road that winds it way over the mountains. There are some great bends but nothing too serious, even a Harley Davidson could make it. Then down through the lovely village of Canfranc. Even if you do not care about railway stations there are some terrific cafes.
Finally leaving the Pyrenees, we headed to Bordeaux and stumbled across a Chateau which invited motorhomes to park for free. Of course you were expected to taste the wine and maybe buy a few bottles. This was not really a hardship. We found out about another place (thank you Davide) that also offered water and electricity. Thus began a short but fun tour of Bordeaux vineyards.
Meanwhile, I have been trying out the new oven. The oven story is very long and expensive but the endpoint was a new Gaggenau steam oven. This is turning out to be really very capable. First task was making bread. I often use this as a test of a new oven. You can tell a lot about how even the heat is. With a steam oven you can use moisture to loosen the dough initially and later to create a crispy crust. First attempts were good and then I went on to make a sour dough loaf that was possibly one of the best I even made. Really good solid crust while light and properly textured inside.
While shopping in Lidl, I came across a very cheap vacuum packing machine. The oven claimed sufficient low temperature control at high humidity to be good enough for sous vide cooking. I never tried this before. The principle is that you vacuum pack the food and then cook it at a relatively low temperature. These two conditions combine to preserve the flavour. First attempt was mushrooms. Cooked at 45°C for over an hour. They were spectacular. Simple brown mushrooms with garlic, butter and fresh coriander. Next came asparagus. Fresh asparagus, since it is that time of year, with butter and a little seasoning. 85°C for 25 minutes. Also very good. I can see why it is so popular with some chefs. Can be a bit of a fiddle getting everything arranged in the bag and sealing it but appears to be well worth the effort. More experiments will follow.
One of my many nightmares, I have quite a few, is about driving Baloo into a small village. The streets get increasingly narrow until we are stuck. Then I have to try and reverse out which is almost impossibly difficult. Cars are blocking the way. Walls are getting scraped. We are reversing over well-kept gardens. Angry villagers appear waving pitchforks and burning torches. You get the idea? Nearly happened during our first couple of days in the Pyrenees. From the map I could see the valley road led up to a col. Looked nice. No excess of hairpin bends. No weight or length restrictions. No road signs indicating it was not suitable for larger vehicles. First village was narrow but nothing too unusual. Second village was even smaller. I was starting to have doubts and began looking for a turning spot. Third village was ridiculous. Literally just a few centimetres either side. People watching out of the windows and scowling. We made it through onto the road that started to climb up the valley side. Narrow, crumbling edges, steep drops. I was losing my nerve but there was nowhere to turn. We took a sharp turn over a bridge where a dirt track joined. With a few shunts I managed to reverse into this, put the parking break on, stopped the engine and took a few deep breaths.
Would you drive a truck through here?
Carry on up? The road might widen above the valley. The map showed no more villages. Or it might become dangerously narrow and we could get impossibly stuck. One option is always to get the motorbike down and do a reconnaissance. However, we were completely blocking the track and it was getting towards evening. Eventually we chose to go back. It was tricky but we knew it was possible. In fact, knowing it was possible made it easier. Gave me the confidence that so long as I was careful everything would be fine. And it was. A few villages tutted at us but others saw the humour in the situation. Nothing got damaged. We did not get attacked. Shortly afterwards we were safe in a quiet layby. The stuff of nightmares.
The next few days we stuck to the main roads. Not so interesting but easier on my nerves. We ended up in Andorra which is a good place to buy cheap diesel. Cheap in this sense means cheaper than in the rest of Europe. The days of genuinely cheap diesel are long gone. There is a nice, truck sized, parking area right on top of the pass above the town of Pas de la Casa. We settled down here with a handful of other motorhomes. It has been quite hot lately but up at 2,000m it was deliciously cool. We enjoyed the fresh breeze with the sunset.
Next morning I took Cent for his usual short walk before breakfast and noticed a car further down the hillside. It was stuck in some mud. Looked like an attempt to dive along a boggy track that was really only suitable for a tractor. We had breakfast before checking again and he was definitely stuck. Baloo made short work of dragging the small hatchback out. The car and the owner were both very muddy but otherwise unharmed. We waved goodbye and continued west along the Pyrenees.
Diane has a clean bill of health. She has been tested and her bones are fine. The surgery has worked well and everything is knitted back together properly. Seems like breaking her hip was just really, really unlucky and no indicator of an underlying condition. Enormous thank you to Claudia at Unicat for helping us get this sorted out. Diane jokes that I kicked her crutches away when we found out all was well. This is not quite true but I did suggest that she could get on with a bit more walking. It will take many months before she has her full mobility and strength back but we are pleased that everything is going in the right direction. That sorted it was time to get back on the road.
France is mostly a relaxed and easy country to travel in with a motorhome. There are plenty of parking places, plenty of service points and wild camping is generally tolerated. The countryside is varied and rewarding, the people are friendly and the food is great. The last couple of weeks have been warm and sunny. Our French peregrination has been a relaxed and easy affair.
From Germany, we slipped up to Luxembourg to buy slightly cheaper diesel and then followed the Mosel river southwards. Avoiding main roads and taking our time, we attempted to link up several nation parks. This strategy was more or less successful and we discovered many new parts of France.
We have a new oven. The Baloo oven story is a bit of a saga and will be recounted in due course. This is the fifth oven to be installed since we set off. Hopefully it is the last one for a good while now. On the up side, it is proving to be the best oven yet and makes me very happy. Cooking is often high on our agenda. You might guess this by looking at me. Putting a tendency to podginess to one side, one of the joys in our life is preparing and eating good food. Bread is clearly an early test of any oven and this was reassuringly successful. A variety of bakes have followed and then we got to the pizza. This was good. But I think it can be better. Understanding a new oven always takes a while. Well, for me anyhow. This one has steam modes. A big step forward in capabilities but at the cost of complexity of operation.
Young visitor
There was a bit of a heatwave. By the time we were crossing the Grands Causses Natural Park it was getting hot. Properly 30°C hot. Fine while we were driving with the cab air-conditioning running but a bit much when we stopped for the night. The road took us high into some hills and appeared to offer a great opportunity. Higher up it would be cooler, fresher, more of a breeze and fewer flies. We parked up on a broad ridge overlooking several shallow valleys. Lovey views, cool air, perfect. Until the flies arrived, hundreds of them. While we were eating at one side of Baloo, a farmer had been busy unloaded tons, many tons, of freshly created organic manure. Cow shit. Mountains of it. A slight shift in wind direction put us right in the odorous path. We’d been at the wine. It was too late to move. We just had to rough it out, truly horrendous. The wind dropped, the stink rose, the flies descended and the temperature stayed resolutely high. Next morning was a quick breakfast, an early start and a promise to be more careful about where we parked.
Trying to sort the remote shutterHappy wedding anniversaryLooked to be a lovely place to camp
We left La Plagne but were still feeling the after-effects of Covid. Nothing serious, just a cough and a general feeling of tiredness. The plan was to do a couple of weeks of easy travelling before heading back to Germany to get Diane’s hip checked out. North through Chamonix and over the magnificent Col des Montets into Switzerland. Starting the 1,000m descent there are several sweeping bends with wide open views down vertiginous slopes. Far below, the town of Martigny nestles in the valley. In 1981, my first experience of this pass was in a clapped out VW combi van. To this day, I still recall gripping the wheel more tightly and hoping the brakes, which failed periodically, would hold out until bottom. Baloo is quite another matter. As well as the service brake (foot pedal) it also has an exhaust brake, a system which changes the valve timing to increase retardation. The engine becomes a compressor slowing the truck and blowing out hot air. It works in conjunction with the semi-automatic gearbox. Often I can simply set the speed using the service brake at the start of a descent and then keep my feet on the floor while the truck systems maintain a safe and steady pace. The exhaust brake does make a rather satisfying noise. We stopped by a roundabout in the valley and the brake drums were barely warm.
GiraffeMatterhorn
South through the Grand St Bernard tunnel to Italy. In 1964 this was the longest road tunnel in the world. Now it seems a bit old and dusty. We emerged into the rather awesome Aosta valley. This runs south-east from Mont Blanc out into the plains of Northern Italy. It cuts past some of the great mountains of Europe including Monte Rosa, Gran Paradiso and the Matterhorn. There is a motorway along the length of the Aosta valley but also numerous castles and fortified houses. To the north are permanently snowy peaks while further south the valley broadens into cultivated fields and vineyards. We detoured northwards to drive up to Breuil-Cervinia. There is a dedicated motorhome area here with terrific views of the Matterhorn.
Next day we resumed our trek south and emerged on the flatlands north of Turin. Not wanting to have anything to do with either flat lands or Turin we turned back towards the Alps and a road into the Parco Nazionale Gran Paradiso. We were trying to get to the Lago di Ceresole but got thwarted by the narrow roads. Usually, at this stage we would have a motorbike day to explore further but we thought this probably unwise with Diane’s delicate hip. So we turned Baloo around while we could still find a turning place, back-tracked for a while and then joined the much more substantial road from Turin to the ski areas around Sauze d’Oulx. Skiing is long finished here and like much of the Alps the area is sort of catching its breath. Nearly everything is closed, for a few weeks, between the end of the winter season and the start of summer. The patchy and muddy remains of ski slopes are still visible. At the same time the grass is turning green and flowers are coming out.
We found a lovely secluded spot in a forest near Sestriere. So nice that we spent two nights there. It was calm and quiet and sunny. Ideal for a bit of recuperation and also to get some washing done. Further south and we were into the heart of the Maritime Alps and not far from the Mediterranean. We attempted to cross via the Col de Tende tunnel but discovered that heavy traffic is barred from this road at weekends. Another U-turn and we set off over the Col du Larche. This is a long and spectacular pass very popular with motorcyclists. We stretched it out over two days. By Monday, everyone had gone home and we had the place to ourselves.
Working our way back north we passed through Briançon and camped right at the top of the Col du Lautaret. Further west and we followed a lovely loop of road around the south of the Vercors Massif. By now we had thoroughly shaken off the Covid so we set a course for Germany.
A consultant checked Diane’s hip before pronouncing that all was well. She is still not allowed to walk on it but the healing process appears to be going in the right direction. I figured that since she could not get out and about wherever we were, that we might as well go to a ski area. One of the many joys of travelling with Baloo is that we can follow the resorts with good snow conditions. At the end of this season the situation was very mixed. Some areas even had to close early. The best conditions appeared to be at La Plagne in the Savoie area of the French Alps. We have not been there for over ten years and so, two days later, we arrived.
The snow was not great. South facing slopes were bare and the lower runs were slush and mud. I don’t think there had been any fresh snow for a couple of weeks. Still, any skiing is better than no skiing and I enjoyed myself. Diane could sit out in the sun during the day. The parking area for motor homes is right next to one of the runs. You can watch skiers and snowboarders going past with varying degrees of competence. You can watch ski instructors patiently coaxing the aspirants following like a line of ducks. There are people walking or plodding in snow shoes. People on sledges, mostly younger people. Paragliders dot the air with their colourful canopies. On a pleasant sunny day it can all get very busy.
La Plagne is very popular with the British. You can spot groups of Brits at the lift queues. Everyone else converges on chairs in a rather haphazard fashion. Brits, however, have a great cultural background in orderly queues. They like to stand in well organised lines. Queue jumping is considered a moral sin up there with adultery and taking the last biscuit in the packet. On a six person lift, the Brits will organise themselves into neat rows of acquaintances to discuss the weather while they wait. Rows of five people, four, three, even just two at times. This is great for me. I can slip down the side to the front of the queue and grab one of the unoccupied spaces. This is not queue jumping, I am in a seat that was otherwise going to be empty. But still, I am often regarded as a queue jumper. I have intruded into their group and their carefully reserved place in the queue. There are glaring scowls and muttered tutting sounds. I pretend to be foreign and either ignore them or give my best impression of a French “boof” while shrugging my shoulders. Occasionally, I will move up to the gate of a six seat lift and the four Brits will just stand still. The gate opens, I sit down on my own, they take the next chair. Preferring to wait, to queue a bit longer, rather than share a chair with someone outside of their group.
Colin, from Scotland, was camped in a motorhome just opposite us. He was on his own and we ended up skiing together. Colin is a much better skier than me. This was fine for me. I had to really improve my game to keep up. He was good company as well. We skied on several days and then the snow came. The area really needed some new snow. Two days later everything was looking much whiter and less muddy. A big improvement. The morning was dull and overcast. Snow was in the air and visibility was poor but we thought we would have a look anyhow. Great decision. At the top of the main lift we popped out above the cloud. Brilliant sunshine and fresh snow. Big vistas and cloud filled valleys. We had a terrific day bouncing around in the soft snow and were both pretty shattered by the end.
This time of year the fresh snow never lasts for long and within a few days it was thinning. Bare patches starting to show through again. Colin went off to the airport to collect his daughter and I caught Covid. I had been avoiding travelling in gondolas preferring the chairlifts where you can sit in the fresh air. However, there are a couple of areas that can only be accessed by gondola. One, called “Le Glacier”, is served by tiny little bubbles that six people can squeeze into. Covid capsules as I came to think of them. No windows to open, not even any air vents. I only used them four times, but that was enough.
Covid capsule
Obviously Diane developed symptoms a day later and so we isolated ourselves for a few days. Each of us had a mild temperature and a day when we preferred to lie on the bed. Fortunately, neither of us got very poorly. Colin came back, skied with his daughter for a few days and then left to go home. We waved through the window. Eventually we tested negative by which time the snow was all but hopeless for skiing so we gave up on La Plagne and set off for a short tour of the Maritime Alps.
East from La Clusaz, a little bit closer to Mont Blanc, is the village of Les Saisies. We were here a few years ago and thought it worth another look. There is a large motor home parking area that you can ski into. The main part of the village is not far away. Not much après ski here but there are numerous artisan shops selling food, drink and odd souvenirs. Many restaurants, a few bars, some small hotels and a lot of small chalets. Like La Clusaz, this is a very French kind of ski area. Totally different from the clubbing orientated resorts that cater to package holidays.
Hot pizza vending machine
In the evening was a lovely colourful sunset and then it started snowing. Serious snowing. Snowed all the next day as well. And the next night. Early in the morning we were woken to the sound of snow ploughs clearing the parking area. Large 4×4 loaders fitted with snow chains and hydraulically controlled snow ploughs. Twelve tonnes of engine and wheels. They clunk and scrape and roar as they push snow around. Ripping up the compacted snow and driving terrifyingly close to the fragile motorhomes. I am lying in bed waiting to feel and hear the sickening crunching, tearing sound as they misjudge Baloo and rip a side panel off. Cautiously I risk a look out of the window. The loader shoots past fast enough to make Baloo shudder and close enough that I can see the driver’s teeth. It appears to be guided by a disaffected teenager complete with hoody. He is chatting away on his mobile phone while waving to his co-worker in the other loader. Clearly he does not notice my aghast expression peering through a crack in the curtains. I close the blinds firmly and retreat under the quilt. Half and hour later it is all over. Dressed and fortified by coffee, I check for damage. There is none. There are tracks right next to Baloo. The snow has been scraped within inches or the tyres and right underneath the tail lift. But not a scratch. I guess the youth is a pretty good driver.
The ski school caught fire
I find skiing in the fresh snow a complete delight. Diane does not. So for the first couple of days I skied on my own. Poking around some of the less visited areas of the mountain where I could make fresh tracks in the powder snow. Later Diane came out and we pottered around under the shadow of Mont Blanc. After a week or so it looked like the weather was turning bad again so we packed up and headed back to the Unicat workshop. We were having a few problems with the generator overheating. Parked up for days at a time in the winter is the one time we really need the generator so since expert help was not far away we decided to head back.
We stumbled across les Rousses while trying to avoid Switzerland. The plan was to head for the French Alps for some skiing. We wanted to by-pass Switzerland because the emergence of Omicron had brought with it a rash of new border controls. Driving a few more miles was preferable to having things stuck up our noses again. We stayed north of Geneva. This took us through the Jura mountains. A picturesque area famous for cheese. Add a small, friendly ski resort and that is me very happy for a few days.
120 liters water for 5 EurNervousImprovingGot the hang of itHappy
Diane had a chance to re-acquaint herself with skiing. After falling last year and hurting her knee, she avoided skis for the rest of the season. Les Rousses was an ideal place to start again. No crowds. Gentle slopes and snow in remarkably good condition for so early in the season. After a couple of days she was definitely starting to get her ski mojo back. We even spent xmas day skiing.
The weather turned to rain. We moved on to La Clusaz, a French resort not far from Mont Blanc. It continued to rain. Solid rain for three days. I tried to ski in the rain. Enjoyed it for a couple of hours before wetness and coldness dampened my enthusiasm. Took days to dry my gloves out. That afternoon a big, wet, soggy avalanche came down one of the pistes I had skied in the morning.
Best avoided
Eventually the sky cleared and despite the sun it became very cold. This was no good for the skiing at all because the runs became seriously icy. Hard and fast. Much harder to control your speed and direction. Diane rather sensibly avoided this. I dabbled a bit more until eventually conceding that while La Clusaz is a lovely area, it needed a bit more snow. Another Covid New Year arrived, marked by a single person cheering from a balcony. We moved on.
The Pyrenees are a beautiful mountainous area with steep winding roads and spectacular vistas. Ideal biking territory. We have a KTM 690 Enduro R on the back of the truck. It sits on a platform along with the spare wheel. This is raised and lowered by a small electric winch. The KTM is a compromise but a pretty good one. Ideally, we would have a bigger bike for Diane to ride pillion. At the same time a smaller bike would be easier to handle off-road and for loading onto the platform. The KTM has a single cylinder engine. This makes the bike fairly light (125kg) and slim. But it still has enough poke that, even with a pillion, it can get down the road in a very handy fashion. As an alternative to Diane, I can also fit two panniers on the back for luggage. This is very useful for fetching and carrying things. When not in use the panniers also attach to the bike carrying platform.
Tail lift for the spare wheel, bike and panniers
Don’t mess with the goat
So, we spent a delightful day bobbing around little roads in the Pyrenees with no particular place to go. An assortment of goats and sheep added to the entertainment. Refreshment came from numerous drinking fountains dotted along the way. We followed a really tiny, winding road up to the border and then dropped down into Spain. Along some fast, flowing roads. Back up to the heights. Briefly down a dirt track and finally along a spectacular valley bottom back to Baloo.
France is a lovely country for travelling in a motorhome. Pleasant countryside. Easy parking. Quiet. We drifted across France without much effort as we settled back into living in Baloo.
Our normal routine is typically to drive a few hours a day. Mornings are for cleaning out the truck, fixing things, sorting out emails and occasionally baking bread. We also plan the route for the day. This is often a very superficial exercise and can sometimes be no more involved than choosing a direction.
Setting off in a clean, shiny truck
We don’t usually fit into a space in the supermarket car park
Fresh bread for breakfast
After a few hours driving, we arrive. Sometimes we just spot somewhere nice. Often we use Apps and guide books to try to identify a good parking spot. Sometimes we need to try a few places before the ideal pitch presents itself. Generally, we avoid campsites and commercial camper van stops. Baloo is remarkably self-sufficient: power, heating, water, cooking. We have a lovely bathroom with a shower and even if we use the washing machine, we still only need to take on water every few weeks. Our ideal site is quiet and possibly quite remote. Somewhere to walk the dog, enjoy the views and relax in the evening. My personal favourites have been on the top of mountains or cliffs.
Not far from Bordeaux we met up with Pete. I have known Pete since I was a teenager and we have had many adventures together on the cliffs, mountains and ski slopes of the world. He is pottering around France in his one-man camper van so we travelled together for a few days.
Pete suggested a visit to the Millau viaduct. Built in 2004
it is, at 336m, still one of the highest bridges in the world. A few years ago,
I watched a fascinating documentary about its construction and had been
interested in seeing it ever since. Diane and I hopped on the bike to have a
look around both ends of the bridge and then eventually we drove Baloo over the
main deck. Actually crossing the bridge is a bit of an anti-climax. The carriageways are well away from the edge
of the deck and there is a substantial fence. The view is limited and you do
not really get a sense of the height.
We waved goodbye to Pete and continued to trek south.
More fresh snow and some great skiing. Got a little bit crowded at times but by getting up early and skiing at lunchtime we could still find some quiet spaces.
Just down the road from very busy Lets Gets is the little village of Sommand. The ski area is smaller. It is also quiet, friendly and has great opportunities for skiing on fresh, untouched snow.
Spent a week at Lets Gets on the French border. We were there to meet up with an old friend and ski. It snowed quite a lot. The slopes were crowded. Many Brits on package tours.
This used to be a very popular location for motor homes. Close to a chair lift. The ‘Aire de Camping Cars’ costs €18 per day. For which you get – nothing. Well, not quite, there is a hole in one corner of the car park to empty your washing up water. However, that really is the full scope of the facilities. When the inspectors came round, they took our money and then told us we were not welcome. Too big. Do not come back. How big is too big? They got very vague on this and shuffled a bit. Oh well. Lets Gets just got a little less popular.
Its the start of the ski season and the start of a small tour of the Alps for Baloo. Alpe d’Huez, at 1800m, is perched high above the Romanche valley which is frequently filled with cloud (at least, it was while we were there). We had to share a motor home park with many other vehicles. Fantastic views and very convenient for the slopes.
Lunch the civilised wayRoselend Dam. We appreciate a good dam.Walking near Mont BlancGetting round corners like this can sometimes take a few shunts and the occasional deep breath
