Paris, Nîmes and the Cévennes

Spending three weeks in France might seem an ambitious trip to undertake on one's own but I had planned it to test everything about travelling to see how I'd actually cope on a holiday without Sarah. 

The first week was to be spent in Paris, a city I love but any sightseeing trip there has to be carefully planned, mostly, with tickets needing to be bought in advance, routes planned and itinerary arranged, so there should be very little scope for ad hoc activities that might have required a discussion were I not alone. The next week I was to travel south, down to Nîmes. This part of the trip was to be all about relaxing, more obviously relying on my own company, and taking in a few sights of this very Roman city, and then the antidote to that; the last few days spent in the countryside of the Cévennes was about meeting up with friends for a few days before coming home.

Day One

Having decided to catch a slightly earlier train than initially planned, I left home at 10am and trundled my case down to the station, pausing only for a quick chat with Sharon on the way. Once the train pulled in and I alighted I found myself in the Quiet Zone of the 10:41 train to Waterloo which turned out not to be quiet at all; one woman moved three times to get away from overly chatty people. The onward trip to St Pancras was as straightforward as ever; Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, Picadilly on to St Pancras which was quite crowded for a Wednesday lunchtime. While I got myself some refreshment it became increasingly clear there was a problem, confirmed by announcements every so often that the French passport control system had developed a fault and so they couldn't process anyone until it was fixed. Mild panic took over sections of the station, the queues for earlier trains got longer and the crowd edging around the entrance got larger. Too many people still don't realise that these days they will have a set check-in time for their train so, despite only two trains being open (and queueing because of the fault) it was staggering the number of people trying to check in for later trains who then gathered round, getting in the way and being a real nuisance instead of just wandering off for a while or getting another coffee. I was happy to wait and watch; it was still an hour before my train would be called anyway. By now it was obvious that the queue consisted of two trains worth of passengers waiting for the French to get their act together. Finally the queues snaked forward and eventually our train was invited to join it. After an unseemly rush our line snaked around what felt like the whole station, with people doing that fast walk that's just short of running to get in the queue as quickly as possible even though everyone has a ticket and a dedicated seat so there's no need to rush at all.

As it turned out, thanks I think to being boarded almost as soon as getting through security, our train left only five minutes late and arrived bang on time in Paris. The journey was as smooth as ever and especially comfortable in Eurostar Plus where I also had the pleasure of a half decent meal and glass of wine. I might need to rethink my seat next time as carriage 1 is furthest from the exit at Gare du Nord so it was quite a walk to the station hall and on to Metro line 5, through the barrier where I wrenched my arm last time here. However, it's thankfully not far, albeit on a packed train, to République where I emerge, not into the forecast thunderstorm but to a bright, if cloudy, sky and a noisy pro-Palestine demo.

My Hotel, the Meslay République, was easy enough to find and the receptionist very friendly. My room is clean and tidy, and the décor though clearly new was still a little stylistically dated. Both twin beds still in situ meant the room seemed smaller than perhaps it was. What wasn't an illusion was the smallest bathtub I've ever used.

Dinner was at "Mon Coco" across the Place de la République. Busy, noisy and quite a young clientele, I had a large beer and eventually a fairly good steak before strolling around the square back to the hotel and the football on iPlayer.

Day Two

Today was all about walking, over five miles in the end - no wonder my feet hurt. 

I got up really early, for me, and had a nice simple breakfast. Not €12 worth, but there will be other days. I wandered vaguely in the direction of the Pompidou Centre but it wasn't going to be open for hours so I kept going, visiting Tour Saint-Jacques and the Rue de Rivoli before turning back into the Marais and an hour later finding myself at the entrance to the Musée National Picasso Paris. Entry was €16 and worth it for the fairly extensive collection, most of which had remained in the artist's possession until he died. After leaving there, I stumbled across a very different museum nearby; that of the Musée Cognacq-Jay, the private collection of the 19th century owner of one of Paris's premier department stores that was left to the nation upon his death - lots of Boucher style, very French, paintings in a reconstruction of a suitable house of the time. Free, and very worth seeing.

I grabbed a quick café allongé and Linzertorte at the traditional Jewish deli - Florence Kahn - before seeking out the Carnavalet Museum nearby. This is the Museum of Paris and is very extensive in both scope and content - possibly the best free museum in the city, and probably in the top five of all museums here. I learnt a lot more about the French Revolution than I knew and even more about Paris (and by extension, France) in the Nineteenth Century. Before leaving, I indulged in lunch of croque mademoiselle in the museum café and some time resting my now very sore feet. My slight calf strain not helping either, but I did manage to avoid a very sharp downpour while solving the day's Wordle.

Next, a return visit to Place des Vosges and the Maison Victor Hugo. Some commercial art galleries line the otherwise lovely square but most of these were a bit brash and tawdry, aimed perhaps at the well-off tourist in reality. Maison Victor Hugo is worth visiting and not very big so it doesn't take much out of your day. I was going to have a wander around the Place de Bastille but another shower found me ducking into the metro for a round trip home.

The eastern end of Metro Line 5 terminates at Place d'Italie from where you can catch Line 6 back to the centre. Much of this line is above ground, which is interesting in itself and also gives you one of the best views of the Eiffel Tower (sit on the right) as it passes. A change a Trocadero to Line 9 takes me back to République and "home". It's been quite a day, I'm tired and frankly parched  so a very large beer in the bar around the corner is most welcome before a late afternoon snooze back in my room. After which, maybe two hours later, I eventually dragged myself out for food and here's a confession; I settled on a Macdonald's but (mitigation) purely because they were advertising MacPoutine (I'm not sure they called it that) and I was intrigued. I'm sure it's a pale imitation of the real thing but O, Canada! If the real thing is even slightly better than this corporate behemoth can offer then it is truly a dish to be proud of. Also, the Big Mac was significantly better than those on offer in the UK. By the time I get back to the hotel I can only muster enough energy for a dip in the tiny bath before bed.

Day Three

I don't know what it is about holidays but I'm up very early again. Sadly today I awake to the news that my friend Rachael has succumbed to her cancer which puts a damper on the day. However, the morning is scheduled to be spent at the Musée d'Orsay which will be a very suitable place to lift the spirits for a while. I catch the metro down to Concorde and cut through the Tuileries to the footbridge across the Seine to the Quai d'Orsay and the museum. I'm early, of course, so waste some time sitting on the steps doing 'my games' including failing at Wordle - GOFER ffs! I join the short queue at 10.15 - no-one seems to care that it's 45 minutes earlier than my ticket is for. It's not overly crowded inside until you get to the impressionists' section and especially the Van Gogh room, where everyone seems to have rushed to. There is so much more to the gallery but most people only seem interested in the "hits".

I have a light lunch there but as I'm leaving I manage to give my dodgy calf a good (i.e. bad) tweak so the rest of the day is all about hobbling. Invalides, the now very appropriate venue for the afternoon, is not far under normal circumstances but it takes an age to limp there. It also means I only have the energy to visit the tomb of Napoleon rather than the whole Musée de l'Armée which might have been interesting. Invalides itself is massive and quite a distance from the river, even further to the entrance to the spectacular mausoleum housing Bonaparte's remains. By the time I've seen it I'm very tired and very sore.

Thankfully the nearest metro goes directly back to République without changing. Sadly the Paris metro is almost entirely lacking in escalators so it's several flights of steps to hobble up and down before reaching République where I seek out a pharmacy for some support bandage and, at the suggestion of my daughter, some orthotic insoles which they have. Then, while having a beer and a club sandwich at a nearby café I spy a sports shop across the square where I decide to buy some proper walking trainers and some tiger balm. Not feeling like finding a restaurant I get a snack tea from the supermarket and retire to my room for the night.

Day Four

Day four is Louvre Day and I don't need to be up too early but when I am awake I realise I haven't been sent my ticket. A couple of texts later and it arrives over breakfast. It's not far to the Louvre really, just one change of metro, but my calf is still not great and Bastille metro station is massive so it's a long way between platforms. I finally get to the Louvre in good time, passing the queues for tickets in the shade of the building and joining the queue with 11am tickets in the open sunshine by  the pyramid. It's only about half an hour in the end before I can enjoy a good hobble around the art. Once away from the crowds milling to see 'you know who' I had a great couple of hours in the so-called minor areas on the upper floors before finding myself in Nineteenth Century French art and the crowds around the Gericault and Delacroix. I then took a deep breath and braced my self, for it also had to be done, to brave the Italian Renaissance wing and see all the great works on the way to and from La Joconde. I've calmed down a lot from all the texts I was sending the family at this time, but really! I then went to pay my respects to the Venus de Milo, whose shear beauty can still make me shed a tear or two. In a side gallery on the way, there was the finest Attic Red Figure vase I'd ever seen - I don't think any of the crowd streaming past for the Venus noticed it at all; their loss.

I was by now really tired of standing and walking and needed desperately to sit in the  park with a drink and something sweet. Before leaving (via a surprising underground shopping centre I swear wasn't there last time), I bought a stupidly heavy book from the gift shop before heading out into the Tuileries in search of that refreshment; it was mid afternoon by now and my lunch in the gallery a distant memory. I found a shady table in one of the cafés and after being moved from that table for four (that no-one sat at in the hour I was there) to a more appropriate (in their eyes) table for two, enjoyed an apple clafouti and Breton cider. I did think about visiting the Orangerie for a Monet fix but the queue was halfway to Concorde so I wandered off, through the fairground to the Rue de Rivoli and then up towards Vendôme, which has to be THE most exclusive square for shopping anywhere. I hopped on the metro at Opéra and back to the hotel. Dinner later was at Bouillion around the corner; a decent terrine and OK veal, but a nice restaurant.

Day five

Le Tour finishes in Paris today; a fact I was unaware of when booking this trip and only became aware of after having my Louvre booking moved and noticing a Facebook post about how the race was climbing Montmartre for the first time in years. Even so, I wasn't sure I was going to make the effort to watch the race, especially with my leg the was it was. The stage itself was not due to start until 4pm and wouldn't reach Paris for a couple of hours after that, meaning there would be plenty of time beforehand to other things before I'd have to decide.

First up I decided to visit Pére Lachaise cemetery today instead of Tuesday as planned, leaving Tuesday to Montmartre if I fancied it. It wasn't too sunny but it was close. Once I arrived, instead of studying  the map, I just meandered around the graves and tombs getting a feel for the place but soon enough came to another map and decided to properly get my bearings. The grave of Oscar Wilde seemed to be about the furthest from where I started so I headed off up the hill with the idea of working my way back down via some of the other famous graves. It was quite a climb to the other side and Oscar but I made it and after waiting for a tour group to finish, paid my respects. Google maps turned out to be a great help once I'd zoomed right in - many of the famous graves were clearly marked - and, after passing large memorials for all the murdered of each Nazi death camp, I soon found myself at the grave of Edith Piaf. Working my way around past Modigliani, Balzac, Sarah Bernhardt, Pissarro, Jim Morrison and many others I ended up at the tomb of Eloise and Abelard by which time I was back at the gate. The nearest Metro station was on the same line as that nearest to the Pompidou so it seemed a good idea to go back there now it would be  open. Sadly, however, when I arrived and after going through the rigmarole of security I discovered, after depositing my stuff in a locker and only peripherally noticing the apparent emptiness, that because of a refurbishment program, the only part of the whole place that was open was a Tilmans photo exhibition which at €17 was a lot to ask so I left.

Mimi had put me onto an exhibit at the Borse de Commerce on the other side of Les Halles to where I was, so not too far away. I purchased a timed ticket from the machine and joined the short queue. It wasn't long before I could go in. The main attraction was a large round pool in the middle of this rotunda upon which  were floating a large number of different sized porcelain bowls being gently propelled around by a slight current and chiming as they collided. It was mesmerising. There was quite a bit else to see but I needed some lunch first. The gallery "café" turned out to be among the poshest I've ever visited and I had a wonderful meal for a pretty reasonable price.

Ultimately I decided I would go and see if watching Le Tour was feasible and after a long walk down the Rue de Rivoli and a small shower I eventually found a space near the Madelaine right by a corner where I would get a good view. Eventually the race reached us - every time you see them you forget how fast they go - huge cheers as they sped past towards Montmartre and again as they sped back in more and smaller groups. As they came back the second time it started to rain properly so I left but it took ages to find an open metro. Crossing the road had to be achieved via an underground car park without which I'd have been walking for hours soaked to the skin.

Day six

Today I'm  booked in to see Sainte Chappelle (and the Concierge - it's a joint ticket) but have been unable to get a timed entry ticket to Notre Dame (which has only recently reopened). After the usual breakfast, I'm off down to Chatelet on the metro which is one of the biggest stations going. After what seems like miles of tunnels and countless stairs I'm eventually spat out on Rivoli and make my way to the Isle de la Cité and join the queue about 40 minutes ahead of my entrance time. It's well worth the wait; the stained glass is really as impressive as all the photos suggest. The Concierge is less impressive but has a rich history which became more interesting as it got to the revolution and the imprisonment of Marie Antoinette. Her cell is now a chapel, unused again, and it tells her story and that of other women affected by and involved in the revolution (e.g. Charlotte Corday) very nicely.

The queues outside Notre Dame are off-puttingly long so I continue with my plan to explore the two Seine islands for the day.

First I head to the furthest end of Cité and the Pont Neuf and find myself in the delightful Place de la Dauphin where I enjoy a lovely early lunch of beef carpaccio and a well-earned Pastis to the soundtrack of a couple of petanque matches going on at the fat end of this triangular square. Then hobbling (still) the length of both the Isle de la Cité and Isle St Louis before resting a while in the small park at the other end. It really is worth taking the time, even with a dodgy leg, there's lots to see, plenty of interesting shops and bars and, if you're lucky, you might see a man walking his cat. Passing the former residence of Charles Baudelaire and its extravagant down pipes I cross back to the right bank and wander along looking at the green box book shops - the Bouquinistes - that were open, buying a couple of small gifts before I got back to the Louvre.

As I walked along, the idea of an afternoon on the river began to appeal. Sarah would have loved it. There's much to choose from but the 'Batibus' is as good as any if you don't need a running commentary. It's a hop on / hop off boat that goes to all the major sites on the river - €23 for 24 hours - and as I  didn't fancy one of the much more crowded Bateaux Mouches, it seemed ideal. Approaching two hours later I got off at the stop marked Concorde which in reality was right by the Grand Palais and a good 250m from the Place de la Concorde itself. Still, my leg is starting to benefit from walking in my new shoes so it's back to Concorde, back to République, back to the hotel.

Day seven

The last time Sarah and I were in Paris we stayed in Montmartre in a quaint little hotel built in what appeared to once have been the garden of Theo van Gogh. We must have passed the Café des Deux Moulins as featured in the marvellous film "Amelie" several times without noticing. Today I had breakfast there.

It was a very poignant day all round but also one that  was more relaxed than the others. I spent the day. wandering around the Butte taking  it all in again. After breakfast passing the shop of M. Collignon and down to the funicular up to Sacré Coeur (of course), following the footsteps of Amelie Poulin as well as our own. I was saddened to see the people selling locks for the  fences around the basilica and then saw the very long queue to get into Sacré Coeur itself in the now hot sunny late morning so I wandered on, past the pharmacy who cured my cold last time and stopping for a pastis at a very busy bar before taking a turn around the main 'artistic' square where the tourists are fleeced of their hard earned by some of the most ordinary, indeed often just bad, art on offer.

Turning another corner I led myself to the Montmartre museum which  is a delightful oasis in all the chaos of tourist season, even with a noisy school party. The standing exhibit was as remembered but the other part held an extensive and fascinating exhibit of the work of Maximilien Luce as well as the studio of Suzanne Valodon. Just as I turned into the final room there was a crashing noise as the shade of one of the lights had fallen off, missing all the displays and the woman in the room ahead of me, thankfully. After letting the staff know of the incident I had lunch in the attached café of a lovely smoked salmon bagel with lentil salad and very reasonable glass of rosé.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering, no particular purpose, finding new sights, remembering old ones, until my calf hurt more than it had all day and I headed back down Rue Le Pic to Blanche and home. Once refreshed and hungry I popped across the road to the Italian restaurant opposite which turned out to be excellent fare before returning to pack my bags for the journey south in the morning.
Paris has once again delighted, even on my own, but I did feel it would have been nicer to share it with another. Maybe next time.

Day eight

Travel day.

Settled up at the hotel handing over another €150 for six breakfasts and the city tax. Decided in the end to take the metro to Gare de Lyon and regretted booking such a late train but found a seat by the piano as a young woman went through almost her entire repertoire so at least I was entertained. The call for the train to Avignon came eventually and after a trek down the platform I found my single seat in first class (because why not?), amusing those around me by failing to link my earpods to my phone so they had to listen to two minutes of "I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue" before they said anything. I listened to the rest of the programme and another podcast before spending  the rest of the time looking out of the window - it's a pretty interesting landscape around that line past Lyon.

At Avignon I disembarked, grabbed a sandwich from the Relay shop and got on the local train to the main station in good time to make my connection to Nîmes. I was probably half way there before I realised that my ticket only took me as far as Nîmes Pont du Gard - a considerable distance from Nîmes Centre. I assumed I'd have to catch a local train into town but the train I was on did stop there making me wonder why my ticket only went so far. Probably my fault in booking. I decided that as my ticket had already been checked and the train was pretty full, I'd risk just staying on to the right stop and plead ignorance if someone checked. They didn't and I walked out of the station into the full glare of the afternoon sun and 30º+ of heat. The flat I had rented was a full fifteen minute walk from the station and despite a fair amount of shade, it was a real slog dragging my now much heavier case (remember the book from the Louvre?) with my improving but still sore calf.

Romain, the owner, had sent me a phone number for Nicolas; the guy managing the flat and who lives on the top floor of the block, but it was a digit too short so it took a couple of calls to Romain to sort it out before Nicolas bounded down the stairs and carried my heavy case up three floors to a very smart apartment. He thought I was arriving an hour later so while I went to a nearby Carrefour City for basic supplies, he finished cleaning the floors. I made myself a very passable pasta dish and collapsed in for an early night.

Day nine

Aside from a shopping trip to the very good market at Les Halles, the highlight of today was doing the laundry and lounging about. I deliberately put today aside as a do nothing day after my Parisian exertions but I roused myself enough to make a nice salad niçoise while listening to the cricket commentary. Back to the tourism tomorrow!

Day ten

A proper tourist day. First stop the tourist office who were very helpful and where, despite many things being free on the first Sunday of the month, I bought a four day city pass because of the flexibility it would provide. The proximity of Arles begs a visit and the lovely people at the office found me a bus to take me there so I will be going tomorrow.

The pass was well used today - firstly the excellent Roman museum which is spacious and well laid out allowing the visitor to follow the story of Roman Nîmes with a clarity seldom  seen elsewhere. It also has a nice garden. There was some building work around the area and  I couldn't find the bullfighting museum so ended up at the Musée des Beaux Arts. This is your standard city art gallery, nothing exceptional and not very big but it is nicely curated and it's worth the short time it takes to visit.

The building that dominates the centre of Nîmes is the Arena or amphitheatre, one of the most complete such structures still standing. The day was heating up but a lot of the Arena is obviously out of the direct sunlight so as I was right there (enjoying a beer in a bar opposite) I thought it was an opportune moment to visit. The corridors around the arena are somewhat labyrinthine and the signposting is not always as helpful as it might be, I think some of the directional signs must have been missing, but it's still a very impressive building, still used for occasional events. By now the earlier beer was becoming an issue but on finding the lavatory shut I had to hold on a bit longer! After buying a little glass crocodile for the souvenir shelf, I got some lunch of Caesar salad followed by ice cream doused in the local liqueur before moving on, back to the area around the flat.

The Carré d'Art is a really good looking modern art museum, designed to reflect the next door Maison Carré; the most intact Roman temple. The Carré d'Art is light and airy and has some interesting displays which I think are not permanent but the main focus does appear to be something the French are very keen on; a multi-purpose modern art building for studying art with lots of very well used library and study areas as well as excellent exhibition spaces. Had to follow the footsteps of Alice Roberts up to the terrace café for a Badout Red and a great view.

The Maison Carré itself is most impressive from the outside, but the inside is entirely bare and given over to an exhibition of its history. I'm not sure the entry would have been justified if not part of the City Card. By now I'm more than tired so a quick visit to the the Carrefour again before going home for the evening.

Day eleven

Arles. Got to the bus station early and found the stand easily enough and waited. Handed over my €2 coin on embarkation and it wasn't long before we were in the busy market day Arles' traffic. To be fair, it is a huge market, in the middle of which is the tourist office where I was given a QR code for a self guided walk following the sites associated with van Gogh which I sort of followed, not in the right order as it turned out but hey.

Arles is pretty shabby, especially compared to Nîmes, but I think some of the time it's a studied shabbiness. The places Vincent painted are marked with information "easels" showing the appropriate painting alongside the text including where the Yellow House isn't (see picture), the Rhone for one of the starry night paintings, and the hospital he stayed for a while which is now a chic little square. One of the squares he painted is now full of restaurants and cafés where I persuaded the waitress to allow me a table and one of the last servings of oysters for lunch. After thoroughly enjoying the local and Carmargue oysters, I wandered a bit further, found the Musée Reattu a very interesting art gallery for a hour or so, before arriving back where the market was no more.

By now it was late afternoon but the bus back to Nîmes wasn't for another couple of hours so I decided to go to the station where, if there wasn't a train, the buses also ran from. Thankfully there was a train which saved me an hour of waiting but cost €9.50 more so swings and roundabouts.

Day twelve

Up reasonably early and after what has become my usual breakfast here I'm out before the sun bakes the day too hard for I'm going to climb up to the Tour Magna- a big old Roman tower on top of a hill to the north end of town. It's approached through parks and gardens, attractive with water features and colonnades, statues and grotto-like features and rising through a combination of steps and slopes. I've remembered my water bottle this time.

The climb is fairly arduous for an unfit old git like me but I stop and drink frequently and come across the tower sooner than I thought. Another quick sit on a nearby bench watching a dachshund beg for the ball from the mouth of a much larger dog to no avail. After a while I approach the tower, show the attendant my city card, answer the 'where are you from?' question and read the information boards . It turns out that someone having read the predictions of Nostradamus managed to persuade the mayor of the time that the tower was filled with gold and that he should therefore be allowed to excavate and basically gut the building. Thankfully he was stopped before it fell down but it does mean that it is now an empty shell with a modern staircase thrusting up the middle.

Looking up, this internal staircase wraps itself around a large central column. There's nothing to hold onto on the inside of the spiral and the outer handrail has a flimsy look about it. I'm nervously about a quarter of the way up when I decide that I really don't like the trauma involved in obtaining a slightly better view of the city. I'm also very concerned about what will happen when someone wants to come down past me! I turn gingerly trying to simultaneously stick to the  smooth column and hold tight to the worryingly insubstantial handrail. I wimped out.

Not much to be said for the rest of the day except that I made the mistake of not visiting a couple of remaining museums, which would have been free, instead thinking that I'll do them on Monday when, as I discover, they're all closed.

Day thirteen

With the museums closed and much else besides, I got a pastry for breakfast and wandered about taking in some of the Roman sites dotted around the city as well as much later attractions. When I found myself near the station again I briefly thought about going out to the famous Pont du Gard but I couldn't be sure of the right bus and the right stop and soon got put off by my own nature. So, I popped into the tourist centre, bought a gift and a bag before doing some shopping and going home.

Day fourteen

Quietly got up and breakfasted on granola and milk, waited till after 10am and made my way downstairs and across to the antiques shop that has been closed since Saturday (when  I was in Arles). On Friday evening (today is Tuesday) I had seen the most marvellous beaded, red and yellow leopard figure in the window. The shop had a 40% off sale which made this much more affordable and very tempting. I had been thinking about it all weekend and Monday when it was also shut. So today I went in and bought it. My faltering French (Franglais to be honest) seemed to be enough to get my message across as the Proprietor couldn't or wouldn't speak any English - and why should she?

I brought my bounty back up to the flat and headed off to the Musée de Vieux Nîmes, which is mostly about the famous serge de Nîmes or as we know it; denim. It's not a huge place but nicely curated and well worth the €5 I had to pay because my city card had run out. After a pleasant while here I left for the centre of the old town and discovered that the cathedral, contrarily, was shut on Tuesdays. Ended up having a very nice lunch in the top floor balcony of the Carré d'Art before coming home to sort out the laundry and start packing after a game of "guess what Dad bought" on WhatsApp, then arranged for Steve to pick me up at noon tomorrow for my last few days here, chilling in the Cévennes.

Days fifteen to nineteen

I had established that there was a bus service I could use should it be necessary but as we drove deeper into the countryside and, after lunch, arrived at my accommodation, I was glad it hadn't been. The place was on the side of something of a gorge and, while not far from the bus stop, it would have been quite a drag getting my case down there. It also seemed a lot further than it looked on the map so the journey could have been long and arduous.

Anyway, I had been picked up in the narrow street outside the flat in good time and we headed out of the city towards Anduze. It was good to see a familiar face again. After showing me the local wine cooperative that we'd be visiting in a couple of days we stopped for lunch at La Madeleine, which was very pleasant. So much so that we lunched there again before the winery visit.

After stopping for supplies, we paused at my accommodation long enough for me to find my room and drop my case before driving up to the campsite for the rest of the day. It was so hot by now that I almost wished I enjoyed the water and had brought some 'togs' but alas I would have to make do with a cold beer or two. Once I'd been shown around and we'd had those drinks and the nice repast we'd picked up at the supermarché, I set off back down the hill to the charming converted mill that was my home for the next few days.

The following day, after a lovely breakfast, I climbed back up the hill and we set off for the petit Train à Vapeur des Cévennes at Anduze for a trip that would take us to Saint Jean du Gard. It's a busy attraction so it's a long train with mostly open carriages puffing up the valley, past the Bambouseraie en Cévennes - a somewhat incongruous (to me) bamboo plantation and visitor attraction where the train stops - to its destination. The river weaves in and out of sight and is sometimes very low but what water there is is often full of bathers. Arriving at Saint Jean du Gard we head off to explore the small town and eventually fetch up at the Maison Rouge - Musée des Vallées Cévenoles, housed in a spanking new building and displaying beautifully curated artefacts charting the history of the area, its peoples and way of life including a large section on the silk weaving industry that was once the lifeblood of the area.

We found lunch at La Porte Ouverte where I was finally able to try Andouille Guémené which topped a crêpe complèt. It's surprisingly meaty for what is in reality a sausage made entirely of pig's colon and very delicious. 

Back to the station for the return journey and we found that people were able to visit the cab of the train which was lovely but even hotter.

These few days were designed to be convivial and relaxing and they're turning out exactly as planned. The day after the train ride is the scheduled visit to the local wine co-operative where we get the full tour, much of which is in the blessed relief of the cool of the vat buildings and air-conditioned shop. The wine is very good and Steve will bring some back for me so, mindful of the new allowances in place thanks to idiocy of you know what, I buy half a dozen bottles to enjoy at home.

The next day is a road trip into the heart of the Cévennes. We take the main road, twisting high up the valley to the plateau and stopping to take in the views and refreshment before driving back down the other side which is smaller and twistier, passing through tiny hamlets and villages and ending up at the village Steve first stayed in years ago where we have a nostalgic wander before going back to the campsite. Attached to my B&B is a bar area where rum is king so we walk down the hill to spend the evening there. They also offer a charcuterie plate so we enjoy a cocktail and a beer or two alongside the meat and cheese before it's Steve's turn to walk home.

Day twenty and twenty-one

The homeward trip begins with another lovely breakfast before checking out and waiting for Steve to give me a lift back to Nîmes for the train to Paris. When booking I was over cautious when it came to making sure I could get to the station even if a lift was not available for any reason, so my train wasn't due until nearly 3pm. In the event of course, I could easily have caught a much earlier train and even made it home the same day at a push but I had a hotel near Gare du Nord and a morning Eurostar booked so being in no hurry was nice despite the wait. The train to Paris, unlike the one from there was a direct TGV into Gare de Lyon and arrived on time and without stress. 

I took the Metro towards the hotel and emerged into an unfamiliar area of the city and took a wrong turn before eventually finding my accommodation. It looked nice online and the outside was promising but I was tired and going through the door I genuinely wondered if rooms were available by the hour. The woman behind the desk was charming and helpful though and even let me off 40c of the city tax because her card machine wasn't working and I couldn't find enough cash. She said she'd got me a nice room on the 5th floor with a balcony but once I'd taken the tiny lift up there and negotiated the narrow, slightly grubby, corridor and saw the room, my heart sank, The bed was great but everything else was anything but. The balcony was barely a foot wide and so high up I couldn't even countenance climbing out onto it. By now, stupidly as it turned out, I was thoroughly spooked so I had a tepid shower and a cup of tea and turned in to bed.

In the morning I packed and went down to breakfast to be greeted by the most friendly and cheery man who decided that despite ordering a pain au raisin as part of my petit dejeuner, a croissant was such an essential part of the repast that he'd given me, and the woman who wanted pain au chocolat, a complementary croissant alongside everything else. It was a very good breakfast and I was totally embarrassed by my fears the previous night. I strode out into the Paris daylight much cheered and made my way the short distance to my Eurostar home.

The trip back from Waterloo was anything but straightforward. I'd booked first class and was sitting comfortably awaiting departure when nothing happened. I don't know how trains start but this one didn't. An engineer was called. A lot of people got off and caught a different train south. I waited until the train was officially cancelled and walked over to the given alternative which turned out to be half the length with only eight first class seats which I managed to get the last of. At least I wasn't standing and there was the bonus of a can of gin and tonic proffered by one of my table companions. So, once again South West Trains surpass their usual awfulness as the last leg of the journey and I drag my case back home from Fratton station a couple of hours later than I'd hoped but pleased and content that I'd had a successful trip, that I could travel on my own quite happily but would obviously prefer company in the future.

0.21 tonnes CO₂ saved

Seville, mostly

September 2022

After two and a half years off the rails, Spain beckons. We'll be travelling from Fratton (of course) to London, Eurostar to Paris where we'll tick off our last Parisian mainline station when we leave on the sleeper from Gare Austerlitz to Latour de Carol in the Pyrenees. From there a local train will take us to Barcelona where we'll overnight before catching the morning train to Granada. After a couple of nights there visiting the Alhambra, we'll head to Seville for the best part of a week, visiting Jerez, before heading home via Madrid and Santander where we'll catch the ferry to Portsmouth.

Day One

Fratton Station

The night before we leave there's a big thunder storm and water is coming in through the bathroom vent. After some running repairs we retire and awake the next morning to find everything in place so we shrug, get ready and set off to catch the 11.54 to Waterloo. Minor panic as a Southern Trains service to Victoria is abruptly cancelled but nothing else is affected and, although we set off slowly, thanks to other delayed Southern Trains - a fact our conductor is keen to remind us of throughout the journey - we arrive in good time and cross London by tube and sit patiently in St Pancras International waiting for our train gate to open.

I know Eurostar have had their critics recently but just to say, passport control and security was as smooth as possible with the added entertainment of one of the 'guides' making sure we got in the right passport lane - "no, this one, not my fault it's brexit".  

Arrived at Paris Nord bang on time leaving us just shy of two hours to get across Paris to Gare d'Austerlitz on a packed Ligne 5 and notwithstanding a wrenched elbow gained by lifting a heavy case and bag over the barrier. Anyway, Austerlitz will be lovely once it's finished and is the last mainline station in Paris from which we have departed (I may have mentioned this before). There's quite a wait in our airy (ok, outside) waiting area before the board directs us to the platform for our Intercités de nuit sleeper to Latour. There are no private beds on this train and I think we were too late booking to take advantage of an espace privée supplement, so we find ourselves sitting on our quite comfortable couchettes finishing off a half bottle of half decent Bordeaux before turning in under the sleeping bag provided for us. We have one traveling companion in the upper bunk but it's all very convivial as we speed on through the night to the Pyrenees.

Day two

At around 7am, our traveling companion starts moving about as quietly as she can and eventually leaves the train at Foix. We are thus left to ourselves for the next couple of hours as our train climbs slowly into the Pyrenees. It's beautiful. Mountain trains are the best, moving slowly through spectacular scenery while you gently take it all in and if it's a sleeper, you can come to your senses at leisure. And while this particular morning might not quite equal waking up to an eagle taking flight in the Highlands, the window is three times the size and we can both easily enjoy the passing view.

Eventually we come to a halt at the impressive but practically deserted Latour de Carol Enveitg station on the Spanish border. There's a nice looking café just outside but it turns out to be shut on a Wednesday so we have to content ourselves with coffee and pastries from the Relay concession in the station. Our Rodales train to Barcelona is due to leave at 10.25 and there's an announcement to that effect but there's no train and the half dozen of us waiting shrug and laugh at the imaginary transport that is 'about to leave' so 'please close the doors'. A moment or so later a man appears from the station building and shouts across the tracks to those of us waiting and it turns out the said train is 15 minutes late arriving. Twenty minutes later we board, and trundle off down the other side of the mountains to our destination. The first three quarters of the journey are spectacular (when not in the many short tunnels) but it gets more prosaic the closer to Barca we get and the last few kilometres are underground. 

We're staying at AC Sants across the concourse from the station and check in before having a very welcome shower and a bit of a siesta. It's a comfortable business oriented hotel and is so convenient for a brief stay in the Catalan capital as most trains come in and out of Sants and there's a massive taxi rank outside. Suitable refreshed we find there's still time for a short trip out and we settle on the museum of the art of Catalunya on Mount Juic. We wander across an get in one of those taxis which takes us right up to the museum and then swerves round and up the hill to a point nearer the actual entrance. There's a mobile bar affair outside the main door and a beer seems in order while we take in the panoramic view of the city. It's a spectacular venue and very well presented, plus Sarah gets in free. There's a lot to see but we confine ourselves to a splendidly presented exhibition of rescued medieval frescoes, altarpieces and other religious art from the region followed by a walk through the history of Spanish art.

Dinner tonight is at La Tere Gastrobar where we ate last time we were here; we hope it's as good and generally it is. The quality of food is still very good but I guess covid has contributed to robbing it of some of the ambience and bonhomie we experienced last time. Our train to Granada leaves at 8.30am so we retire to our room and watch something we'd downloaded on the iPad before turning in.

Day three

The convenience of our hotel can't be overstated. It's comfortable too, although the air conditioning this time was positively arctic. Left is the view from our window of the station, so it's a matter of supreme ease to walk across the street to catch our high speed train to Granada this morning. We have splashed out for confort class seats for the roughly six hour journey. Masks have to be worn and it takes a little while to get used to that again. Sarah has been spending time on every train making lace and today we're sharing our table with a Spanish pair, one of whom is crocheting a shawl and regales us with many photos of their previous efforts, all of which are excellently made but are largely variations on a theme.

The landscape of the Ebro valley is interestingly stark as we approach Zaragoza then passing Madrid on towards Cordoba there's farmland and olive groves. We get lunch from the buffet car; toasted iberico ham with tiny bottles of olive oil and a rather marvellous tomato concoction to tart it up with, together with a glass of red wine. 

Leaving Cordoba, where our new friends get off, we learn that the Queen is at death's door and I'm glad not to have to face wall-to-wall Nicholas Witchell speculating with no solid information for hours on end. It seems however that this is it.

Meanwhile, the track from Antequera to Granada is all olives and distant mountains. There's a new road being built and what looks like a wildfire in the distance but we arrive in good order into 33° heat and take a taxi to our hotel where we have to wait a while to check in at 4pm, no earlier. It's worth it however as we're upgraded to a very comfortable ground floor suite in this listed 17th century Palacio. The man at reception is extremely helpful and has prepared a useful guide to all that's good for our short stay here including where and when to get the best photos of the Alhambra and the best places to eat.

Time for a siesta.

Upon waking we learn that the Queen has indeed died.

We still need to eat so we head to La Diamante recommended by our host and manage to get a couple of seats at the bar. We order a couple of beers and get a mixed plate of seafood and aubergine to keep us going. We order clams, deep-fried anchovies and a dish of mushrooms and devour the lot washed down with a couple more beers. The food is as fresh as it is delicious and generous, the service is hectic and friendly. It's very popular. We go back to the hotel for a whisky and a relatively early night for tomorrow we have the Alhambra.

Day four

Our tour starts at noon, we're to be there fifteen minutes beforehand. Never one to leave things to the last minute, we're there an hour early. Time for breakfast at one of the cafés and still have twenty minutes to wait with no clue as to who out of the many tour guides in the meeting area will be ours. I wave my tickets at some of them but they shake their heads, they're not ours. Finally I find a few fellow tourees and we gather together outside the gift shop before Ana breezes up and announces she's the 12 o'clock English tour guide (she's actually local but her English is excellent). Tickets issued we start our three hour tour of the entire complex. It's fascinating, Ana has a PhD in Islamic studies and so provides us with perhaps far more insight than we might have had on other tours. We hadn't realised quite how extensive the Alhambra is but the best is saved for last as the tour ends in a crescendo of beauty and with us exhausted but happy. Sadly for us, the tour ends quite a distance and downhill from the entrance and the gift shop from where we've resolved to buy a suitable "coffee table" book. The climb back up is arduous in our tired state and the continuing 33 degree heat. 

A bus back to the centre and a search for lunch (at 4pm!) finds us inhaling egg, chips, chorizo, Andalucian black pudding, fried green peppers and pork loin washed down with beers and sparkling water at a café restaurant not far from last night's excellent repast. This too is wonderful, a sort of full Andalusian all-day breakfast.

We've been told that a particular church is as spectacular as any Rome has to offer so, refreshed, we catch the number 8 bus across the city and arrive at said church ten minutes before it closes. They won't let us in. Not even for a quick peek. Grrrr. It's a way out of town, among the university buildings, not being entirely sure of finding a bus back in this still searing heat, I check and find Granada has Uber so I call one and eventually we're back at the hotel for a shower and a snooze. A table has been booked at Los Manueles for 9.30pm - still early for Spain - and we have a decent meal there this time washed down with white sangria.

Day five

Before leaving for Seville there's time for breakfast at the "Alhambra Café" on Bib-Ramblas and some last minute shopping. We even squeeze in a visit to their very splendid cathedral before a taxi takes us to the station.

There's a pretty long queue for our train and every one's luggage has to be x-rayed before boarding. Our ticket is for Antequera where we change trains for Seville. It now seems the train we're about to board is also going to Seville which produces a moment's confusion but then I realise it's going via Cordoba which surely must take longer. In the event about twenty other passengers get off with us and board what turns out to be the train from Málaga to Seville arriving at around quarter past four.

Seville station is smart, new and cavernous. Outside is hot, stiflingly so. We find the taxi rank and get in the first available. Trouble is, the driver doesn't seem to know her way around, has to ring the apartment owners, still can't find it and has to use Sarah's Google maps directions to get us there. She still charges us €10 for the privilege despite having gone at least half a kilometre in the wrong direction.

The apartment is wonderful. It has a proper kitchen, living room and bedroom, a large bathroom, a balcony AND a rooftop pool. We go shopping and I cook us a spicy chicken tagliatelle dish as we enjoy a quiet night in. In the meantime I book us a tour of the Alcázar in the morning. 

Day six

The Alcázar is a fifteen minute walk from the apartment and Google maps takes us a slightly longer way than necessary but we fetch up at the Lion Gate in good time and wait. It's becoming increasingly clear that the deal with the tickets isn't the same as it was in Granada and all we've bought is a jump the queue ticket. There are plenty of potential guides around however and one seems particularly promising. We end up in a small group of six, there's a good dynamic and we have a thoroughly enjoyable tour. The Alcázar itself is beautiful in all respects and was substantially rebuilt by King Pedro who was strongly influenced by the style of the  Alhambra and you can see echoes of that design throughout those parts of the palace. I get the impression that the decoration is not quite as fine as that at Granada but that's really a counsel of perfection as it is still wonderful. The gardens are particularly impressive but the heat drives us inside and we have a quick lunch in the café and a wander around what remains of the old gothic portion of the palace and the ceramics exhibition before leaving in what remains stifling heat.

Outside the cathedral we stop for a drink - a couple of Finos as it happens - and some pinchos, at Orio's bar. Deciding to head to the river we stumble on the tourist office and end up booking a river trip on a solar powered boat. The boat doesn't leave until 6pm so we have a couple of hours to kill. We carry on down to the river, about 100m away, past the Torre Oro and find the pier for later and sit in the shade for a while. Further down the bank there's a couple of bars which seem as good a place as any to wait. The nearest looks quite good, the bar is run by a young man with his uninterested girlfriend and there's plenty of room so we order Aperol spritz and enjoy the ambience, which includes a Spotify playlist called "In da Guettho" which we have great fun texting our horrified daughters about.

After an iced coffee we head back to the pier and before long are aboard the boat on our river trip, which proves only that Seville's waterfront is not all that interesting, particularly when the three language commentary is out of sync, but it's a calm and relaxing hour spent on the water. We would normally spend late afternoons wherever we're staying to recharge before going out to dinner but today. perhaps foolishly given the heat, we're walking back through the old town looking for a potential tapas bar crawl. In the end we find a good looking restaurant and stay there for dinner instead and then manage to crawl home for a well-earned sleep.

Day seven

It's raining! I booked tickets to the cathedral last night (it's Monday and not much other touristy stuff is open) and on our way there this morning it starts to rain. Annoyingly the pre-booked entrance is not the main entrance and we have to dodge the now quite heavy rain to the other side of the building before we can go in. Seville Cathedral is quite magnificent, apparently the third largest in Europe after St. Peter's and St Paul's (Rome & London) and contains the tomb of Christopher Columbus (or part of him at least) among other treasures. It feels more like a museum than an active church but it is beautiful and the morning is well spent. It has a lovely cloister with orange trees and a wooden crocodile hanging from the ceiling and the obligatory gift shop through which we exit and from which we buy our obvious souvenir for Seville - a cheap resin model of the Torre Oro.

We grab a beer at a local bar and decide to take a tourist bus tour of the city aiming to end up at Plaza d'Espagne. It's a very long tour with several very interesting sights but the area that once held the 1992 world fair, now a business park, is not one of them. We go round the whole tour and swap buses to start again so we can reach our goal. The Plaza d'Espagne, part of the extensive rebuilding for the 1929 Ibero-American exhibition, is hugely impressive but seems somehow under-utilised and we have one more stop before we head back to the apartment. The tobacco factory where Bizet set Carmen is now a university building but it remains an impressive structure and Sarah poses for a photo outside to send to friends with whom we went to see the opera at the Royal Opera House a few years ago, buying very expensive tickets during a night on the vodka.

Tonight we eat at a splendidly decorated Moroccan restaurant very near the apartment and it's rather good.

Day eight

Before we left home I booked us a tour of a sherry bodega in Jerez and a couple of days before departing I get a phone call from them asking if I realised I'd booked a Spanish language tour. Obviously I hadn't realised this, so our visit time was pushed back from midday to 4pm for the English version. This means we don't have to leave Seville quite as early as originally planned - Jerez is only just over an hour away by train so we resolve to catch the 10:45 and amble the ten minute walk to the station. Queueing at the Renfe ticket office, time is starting to look tight but ultimately the train is delayed anyway so we arrive in good order and walk into the centre of town.

As with nearly all places it seems, the area around the station is not very salubrious but as we walk further Jerez begins to unfold its charms and we find ourselves first at a bar in the Plaza de la Asuncion for a refreshing fino, and then lunch of anchovies and Russian salad at a very local café in the Plaza Plateros. Our tour is at the Bodegas Tradicion and on the way there is the cathedral so we stop for a visit and spend a cool half hour before climbing what turns out to be quite a steep hill up to the bodega. We arrive a little early but they're happy to let us in and we rest under a roof of vines alongside a couple who had arrived even earlier than us. By the time four o'clock rolls round there are a dozen there for the tour.

Bodegas Tradicion is a relatively new venture built on the foundations of a much older one and their interesting story is told before we visit the many barrels of sherry and get a very good grounding in how the various types of wine are made and how they differ from each other. We then get a generous tasting of several of their very fine products before we are led into what turns out to be the highlight of the tour; their excellent private art collection where we sip our Pedro Ximenes and marvel at this small but perfectly formed collection of Spanish art including examples from all the greats - Goya, Velasquez, El Greco, Picasso to name the obvious. Suitably enamoured, we buy a couple of bottles - a fino and oloroso - and share a taxi back to the station with another couple. A coffee in the station café kills the time waiting for our train back to Seville where our taxi driver this time has a much better idea of where things are.

I make us a meal using up the chicken and pasta we had bought on our first day as a lovely day comes to a very satisfying end.

Day nine

The weather is fine again, but thankfully not as hot. We're heading for the Seville Museum of Fine Arts gallery in the Plaza de Museo. It's a nice wander through a different part of Seville and we first come across the magnificent Setas de Sevilla, a large wooden structure known to locals as the mushrooms, finished in 2010 and a very modern landmark for this old city.

On the way we also pass Lizerran, a café bar recommended by Adam for its pinchos, so we stop for a beer and a snack which is indeed pretty good, before we move on to through shopping streets to the gallery.

The gallery itself is excellent. Well curated and a fascinating journey through more Spanish art, including a fine collection of Murillos, set in a lovely old palazzo with a cool courtyard interior.

It's our last night in Seville so we decide to try one of the nearby bars, the first of which, "Becerrita", turns out to be a more than decent restaurant and a fitting conclusion to our time here. The food is lovely and we settle on sherry with every course rather than a bottle of wine. A crisp, dry fino to start followed by a Palo Cortado and finishing with a very fine PX. 

Day ten

Today marks the turn for home as we turn north towards Madrid. We leave Seville fairly early in the morning and arrive in the capital just after 11am. We're at the main station, Atocha, but our hotel and tomorrow's departure station is at Charmatín so after failing to find the local train connection we get in a taxi to cross the city. Charmatín is the mainly business quarter and home to Real Madrid but the station is rather prosaic and the hotel, like AC Sants in Barcelona, is not built for tourists but is also not quite as nice as its Catalan counterpart. It will do for us though.

Sarah has found us a potentially interesting little museum to visit only a couple of metro stops away. Finding the metro itself is less that straightforward however but after wandering aimlessly for a few minutes we eventually find it down some steps from platform 1 of the main station. The ticket machines are also less than obvious and there are a couple of staff stationed nearby to help the many confused travellers. After that, the trip is as easy as it should be. The museum is ten minutes from the metro and up a slight hill but we find it easily enough and buy our tickets. It's often best, we find, to start at the top floor and work our way down. The lift in this building is a rather fine vintage wooden one and the museum itself is filled with a marvellous collection of art, objet and artefacts put together by José Lázaro Galdiano and bequeathed to the Spanish state.

We seem to be in a rather expensive part of town with the cafés offering rather more expensive food than we really require on a Thursday lunchtime but we find one that's more relaxed than the others and beautifully decorated where have a lovely, good quality lunch. Rather better quality than the station Burger King we get for dinner before a very early start in the morning.

Day eleven

We're on a fast train to Valladolid where we change and catch a slow train through the Cantabrian mountains down to Santander. The mountains are very picturesque with broadleaf woodland, ochre painted houses and wild pampas grasses framing the meadows and villages dotted along the way and making it look not quite like a Swiss alpine scene.

Santander station is half a mile form the hotel and once oriented we drag our weary carcasses to what turns out to be a very nice hotel near the water, and crucially, across the road from the ferry terminal. We are able to check in and after a quick rest, a shower and booking a restaurant for later  Sarah is desperate for a swim. Santander is actually bigger than it looks and the main beach is really too far to walk so we get the front desk to call us a taxi. Before launching ourselves onto the sand it's time for lunch.

There are a whole load of bus stops here and several of them will take us back to the hotel so after a swim (for Sarah, not me) and a sizeable ice cream we catch one.

Our dinner booking is at Querida Magarita, a Michelin recommended restaurant. it seems quite near on the map so we walk, but it's further than we thought and up a bit of a hill and in what looks like a more residential area but it's very much worth it and we have a great meal with paired wines at a very reasonable price. A taxi back to the hotel is essential after such a repast.

Day twelve

A day to wander around the centre of Santander, picking up some last-minute shopping and having lunch in the cathedral square before it reopens after siesta. The cathedral itself is nice, not very elaborate but calm. We also have a stroll in the park by the hotel and take some time to relax looking across the water and laughing at the forlorn attempts of a workman to keep his temporary barrier erect in what s quite a strong wind and in the face of a public determined to ignore it. The modern arts centre is quite the building and the park has several sculptures dotted around - it's a lovely place to sit quietly after what has been a busy couple of weeks.

Dinner turns out to be in an old covered market that has been converted into something with art shops, bars and a travel themed restaurant. It's a real contrast to the previous evening but no less enjoyable and a fitting way for our time in Spain to end.

Days thirteen and fourteen

We arrive at the recommended time to catch the 2pm ferry back to Portsmouth and wait. And wait. Brittany Ferries' Santander route does not seem geared up for foot passengers at all as we wait for all the vehicles to embark before following them up the vehicle ramp rather than via a separate passenger entrance as you might expect. Our cabin is nice though, thankfully I booked one with a window, and we settle down for our 28 hour voyage home. There's an interesting talk scheduled for the marine mammals we might see on the way but we fail to see any whales or dolphins on either day. A fair dinner is included and we then retire to our cabin and watch "Rocket Man" (3 Stars) on their video on demand service. Sadly I completely failed to put my iPad away properly for falling asleep and so managed to leave it behind when we disembarked.

The weather was calm for the whole crossing thankfully. We don't dock until 5.30pm though and with nothing else much to do we end up watching most of the Queen's funeral, which seems to be on almost every TV on board anyway. Once again the lack of regard for foot passengers shows as we don't get to leave until well after everyone else and the bus to the terminal is cramped and not geared up for the amount of luggage we all carry. After a long time at border control (yawn, thanks Brexiteers) we call an Uber and are soon home.

Carbon saved by not flying: 1.15 tonnes

When it's spring again...

February 2020

We love Amsterdam.

 Day One

Although worrying noises were beginning to come out of China, our sole concern at this time was the potential disruption of Storm Ciara. It was, however, a very leisurely start to a quick break in Amsterdam as we left Fratton station headed for a midday direct Eurostar to the Dutch capital. For some reason when we booked, the cheapest ticket out was in business class so we had a very relaxing and comfortable journey arriving on a late afternoon in early February.

On our first trip to Amsterdam back in 2012 we stayed at a lovely boutique hotel just off the Museumplein and in a fit of nostalgia we had booked the Hotel Jan Luykens again for what may turn out to be the last time. On booking in we were told that it would be closing in October. I dare say it closed earlier than that. It was a nice hotel and very conveniently located but lacked any dining facility. Accordingly we scout around for dinner and head for Sama Sebo a very popular Indonesian restaurant. The weather is wet and without a reservation we seem to be out of luck but as we pass along the outside looking for an alternative, one of the waiters waylays us with the offer of a seat at the bar if that would suit. It does indeed. We order the rijsttafel and stuff ouselves stupid on the most delicious and varied food.

Day Two - The Hague

We have started to want to explore further afield and so we are going to The Hague. Dutch trains are frequent and efficient so with only a fairly early start and a quick change in Utrecht we arrive at Den Haag HS mid-morning and head for our first stop; the Marithuis museum.

The Maritshuis is home, among other things, to The Goldfinch and Girl With A Pearl Earring, the latter attracting quite a crowd as we enjoy the many works of the Dutch Golden Age. It's a lovely museum gallery and well worth the trip on its own.

Through the Binnenhof, the old Dutch parliament buildings, we walk to the small Museum De Gevangenpoort exhibiting preserved relics of past crime and punishment, and the next door Galerij Prins Willam V, a small but delightful art collection. By now it's lunchtime and we eventually find a suitable café in the town centre.

Wandering the shopping centre and arcades, we decide there's enough time to visit the Escher museum before Storm Ciara will hit and force us to stay. Twigs are already being blown from the plane trees as we approach what turns out to be a highlight of the trip. It really is time to head back to the station now and we arrive in good time to find a seat on the high speed train to Utrecht which is suddenly not going anywhere. Everyone piles off and starts to stare at the departure board and I quickly realise that the commuter train on the next platform is going to Utrecht and we grab a seat before it fills to the brim with passnegers from the Intercity. It transpires that the cancellation was due to a broken down ICE which we pass near Gouda with one of its pantograph hanging off. 

The on train guard tells us that there's an ICE coming that will get us to Utrecht marginally quicker than the commuter train we're on so we take the chance and get off at one of the small stations and wait for longer than we we led to believe but it arrives and without any more drama we get back to what is now a very blustery Amsterdam. It's too early for dinner and we always like to rest up at our hotel if we can, so we do. 

The trouble is now that the storm is in full sail and our restaurant is thorough soaking distance away and we enjoy tasty traditional Dutch fare while quietly dripping on the floor at the window table.

Day Three - Rijksmuseum, diamonds and cheese

There's a very nice café just around the corner from the back of the Rijksmuseum where we have a pleasant breakfast before heading into the museum itself. It's always worth a visit and today is no exception and we spend all morning there breaking briefly for a beer and apple cake. Between the Rijks and our hotel, which we have often passed without entering is the House of Bols and the Diamond "museum". Watching craftsmen at work before resisting attempts to sell us expensive diamonds passed an hour before we stride firmly into the House of Bols for an excellent tour of its history and that of Jenéver before cashing in our free cocktail chits, having another cocktail, spending a small fortune in the shop and striding somewhat less firmly out again. The rest of the afternoon is spent at the hotel.

On the way over, flicking through the Eurostar magazine, there's an article on cheese which includes a rave revue of a pop-up fondue restaurant in an old factory site on the edge of the Westerpark. It's a bit out of the centre but sounds exciting so I get the phone out, find the website and manage to book a table in what turns out to be a very popular venue. It's quite a tram trip and we warily enter the complex, passing closed shops but also some bars that look promising. Eventually we find it right at the rear and with some relief, as we're still an hour early, pile into a very 'hip and trendy' nearby bar for a pre-dinner drink. The night turns out to be brilliantly memorable, the food, welcome and service excellent and fully cheesed up we get the tram back to the hotel.

Day Four - North Amsterdam

The ferries from the Centraal Station across the Ij are frequent and free! We've decided that today we'll explore further afield and head towards North Amsterdam where I've heard of an artists community in an old factory which is a vibrant centre duting the summer but even in winter has much to recommend it. It sounds like a plan so we catch the tram to the station cross the Ij and breakfast at Pont Neuf. 

The area is being heavily redeveloped and it's a long and sometimes confusing walk to our destination but we clock a fleamarket on the way and eventually find out target which thankfully is both open and houses a more than acceptable bar where we recover from the chill wind with large coffees before exploring further. It's definitely interesting and will be on our agenda next time we visit in the summer but there's not much happening now so we head back to the fleamarket for a fun time regretting we did not have a large van with us. Calling up the bus timetable on the phone we find and catch a bus back to the ferry. Just along the way is the eyecatching Eye filmmuseum where we have lunch and spend the afternoon.

Our last dinner this trip is at De Belhamel, a very good restaurant, beautifully decorated in art nouveau style and with a great view down the Herengracht canal. It's very popular and the food is sublime, as is the bar where we stay for a nightcap before we go back to our hotel for the last time.

Amsterdam offers so much for the traveller that we will surely be back again, pandemic or not.

Day Five - Home

Our journey home suffers from the after effects of the storm as some of the high speed lines are unuseable and it soon becomes clear that we will miss our Eurostar connection as our Talys ICE trundles through some of the minor lines around Rotterdam, Eurostar are ready for us however and we are booked on the next available train. They've received some criticism lately for their attitude to honouring CIV commitments for those with separate rather than "through" tickets, but we do have through tickets and the process is clear and easy.

We grab pasties at Waterloo and get home about two hours later than scheduled. As I finish this, over a year later, we have only managed a drive to our friend's house in Germany in the summer for a few days and it looks unlikely we shall be heading abroad again until 2022. Fingers crossed.


Carbon saved 50kg