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

Lisbon, Barcelona and Paris

November 2019

A week or two before we set off on this journey to Lisbon, emails started arriving talking about how southern France was flooded and no trains were crossing the Franco-Spanish border. Other information suggested that efforts were being made to work around the floods and connect somehow with the French TGVs to Paris. So because any potential problems were limited to the route home, I resolved to carry on as if there was no problem at all and deal with whatever occurred as it happened.

The taxi, due at 3.15am, was early and sat outside our open bedroom window gently purring while we got dressed. Bang on its due time the phone rang loudly to let us know it was here and we set off into the chill morning headed once again for St Pancras International. After an uneventful crossing we trundled out of Gare du Nord towards the waiting taxis to cross Paris to the Gare Montparnasse where we were to catch the TGV to the Spanish border. It seems to take ages and we pass through unfamiliar parts of the city but we finally arrive and get dropped at a side entrance to the station, where there was work going on, lifts out of action and signage not as clear as it might have been, particularly for the non-francophone. Time was on our side though and we soon found a staircase, hauled our cases up to the drab concourse and found a grocery cum coffee shop for a more than adequate late-ish breakfast of croque monsieur and café au lait while we await the train to Hendaye.

Incidentally, travelling through Montparnasse leaves just Austerlitz of the Parisian mainline stations we have yet to set off from, so perhaps a visit to Provence will be in order in the future.

It's an awkward winding stair down to the platform when you've got suitcases to manoeuvre, and the security barrier is both overmanned and porous, but we find our way to our carriage and board. Settling in on the upper deck of our train, we leave the capital and head off towards the Atlantic coast. Sarah starts knitting some extremely complex Sanquhar gloves and I read my book and look out of the window before the desire for a smattering of lunch drives me to the buffet car. Catering on TGVs is so much better than what's on offer from the trolley on SWT and OK, it was €8 but lunch was a very tasty cheeseburger that did not suffer at all from being microwave reheated. The wine was of a pretty decent quality too. As we travel on towards the coast the weather worsens and it isn't long before announcements are being made about delays. The high speed line was flooded in several places so we have to use the regular lines between Bordeaux and Biarritz (which, incidentally, looks glamorous even through the deluge). Our original connection time was 50 minutes and estimates of the delay range from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. In the event we make the connection at Hendaye for the Lisbon sleeper, the Sud Express, comfortably, even allowing for some confusion surrounding a group ticket ahead of us in the queue.

Retiring to the buffet bar to enjoy whatever they have to offer for supper (bacalhau à brás as it turned out), we end up sharing a bottle of wine with a lovely Dutch couple, bemoaning the absurdity of Brexit and drinking to future Anglo-Dutch relations before turning in.
The tracks across Spain are a little bumpy but you get used to sleeping in fits and starts and letting the swaying and rhythm of the carriage rock you back to sleep and this cabin was cleverly designed to be roomier than most too. A knock woke us about 30 minutes out from Lisbon.

Lisbon Day One

The only problem with arriving by sleeper is that your hotel is never ready for you to check in that early. The train approaches the city, as most do, through its least salubrious areas arriving alongside the cruise terminal. Giving the address of our hotel to the taxi driver, we travel the short distance up the hill of Alfama until our path is obstructed by a police officer who, for some undiscovered reason, was preventing vehicles from going any further up that street. In an echo of Tangiers we drag our cases up the remaining 50m of cobbled street to our poorly-signed hotel. As expected, we couldn't check in but they were extremely welcoming, stored our cases and even gave us breakfast. With the rest of the morning to kill we set off for the castle at the top of the hill, winding through the narrow streets and arriving just as it opens. For a while we have much of it to ourselves and after the obligatory photos of the spectacular view, and a wander through the romantic garden, we settle at a outdoor café table for a coffee and our first pastel de nata, surrounded by peacocks, in the warm Lisbon morning sunshine.

The Castelo de S. Jorge is the perfect place to start your visit to Lisbon. There are stunning views in every direction from the ramparts and towers, and it has the added bonus of a camera obscura with regular 'shows' in a variety of languages. We happen to time it just right to get it to ourselves, in English, which helps add to our growing familiarity with Lisbon's topography.

Outside the castle is a regular looking bus-stop and we would have passed it by unnoticed but for a sheet of A4 paper pasted to the back. It's funny how in a place surrounded by an unfamiliar language, the sight of something in English catches the eye. This was a sign about how the popularity of the authentic experience offered by Air BnB was encouraging landlords to evict local tenants in favour of tourist dollars and begging visitors to use hotels rather than opting for staying in such a local apartment. Not something we'd ever considered before and certainly thought provoking.

Just below the castle is the church of Santa Cruz. After a quick stop at a 'convenient' pissoir (for me), we visit both the charming church and its adjacent bell tower, payment for which supported its restoration and affords us access to the very interesting photo exhibition of life in mid 20th century Lisbon up in the gallery.

It's getting pretty warm by now and we stop for a beer at 28 Café, decorated as one of the traditional yellow trams that hurtle around the narrow streets of Alfama and are a vital transport option around Lisbon. We wander further down the hill, visit the darkly impressive cathedral and poke our noses into a nearby church before fetching up for lunch in a port bar at the bottom of the hill just off the Praça do Comércio. It has a whole wall of Port and some other Portuguese wines and plenty of tables. There is a bewildering variety of port by the glass available but before we can order the waitress draws our attention to the fact that they only take cash. Strange, given the prices of some of the vintage port on offer, but there's a nearby atm and we share a plate of charcuterie and cheeses washed down with a delicious dry white port (or two).

By now we figure we'd be able to check in and freshen up so we climb back up the hill to the hotel. Our room is very comfortable and a quick doze seems in order. The hotel also has what it calls a fitness centre in its other building just up the street, which includes an outdoor pool and Sarah loves a swim. We try it out, which means making our way through a garage area, past a couple of gym machines and out into a quite pleasant garden, again with great views. The pool however is freezing cold and the swim doesn't last long.

I like to book a table at a restaurant near the hotel for our first night at least, just so we know where we're going to be eating. This time I have booked at Fado and Wine, hoping it delivered on its name at least. It's just inside the main commercial area of the city, so we take one of the several staircases down the hill, squeezing past a group of young people noisily milling around boxes of books seemingly being hawked by someone or other. The restaurant turns out to be more of a wine bar with food, much like we'd had at lunch, but the host was delightful and charmed with us being English so we had a very pleasant meal before beginning the climb back up the steep staircase to the hotel. Barely 20m from the hotel however is Tasqinha Canto Do Fado and we fancy a beer. It's getting quite crowded as they've got live Fado on tonight (and as it turns out, most nights of our stay). We cough up €7 for a table and are thoroughly entertained by two fado singers accompanied by the traditional guitarist and guitarrista. So we drink more beer, and a cocktail, and finish with coffee before booking a table for dinner the following night, prompting our hosts to refund our €7 and a packed first day in Lisbon draws to a close.

Lisbon Day Two

We've decided to spend our second day in the city out in the Belém area. There's a lot to see out there so first we head down to the Praça do Comércio to pick up our Lisbon cards and catch tram to Belém from the main square. It stops eventually outside the Jerónomos Monastery which is a beautiful confection of Gothic Manueline architecture.

We spend a large chunk of the morning exploring the monastery, together with an exhibition that includes a very helpful timeline of Portuguese history set against world and wider European events. By the time we emerge into the late morning sun we're more than a little thirsty and scout around for a café. All we can find however is a little coffee truck near the monument to Portuguese explorers on the waterfront. It's very welcome. Just along the way is the Museu de arte popular, not something we'd noticed in the guidebooks but what could be wrong with a 'popular art' museum. Nothing in the end, but popular means 'folk' in this instance and there's not a huge amount in it but for an extensive exhibition on basket weaving with many and varied examples of the basket maker's art. Curiously, given that we were pretty much the only people in there, the attendant paid us very close attention all the way round.

We continue along the waterfront towards the tower as it approaches lunchtime. There are several options nearby but we settle on a café literally on the water, and share a curious pastry sandwich with some daring sparrows before going to take a look at the Belém Tower itself, pausing only to admire the memorial to the first aerial crossing of the South Atlantic, undertaken in 1922 by two Portuguese aviators Gago Coutinho and Sacadura Cabral in a Fairey III.

The Belém Tower is another gorgeous example of Manueline architecture but there's not a lot to see inside and it will be some time before it reopens today so we content ourselves with a good look round what we can see of the outside before crossing the park to a very open footbridge across the main road so we can visit the Museu Coleção Berardo with its impressive array of modern art including a couple of very interesting temporary exhibits before weariness gets the better of us and we catch the tram back to the Praça do Comércio and stagger back up the hill to our hotel.

We indulge in a brief snooze before showering and dressing up for dinner at Tasqinha where we are thoroughly entertained by Fatima Garcia and others while we eat very presentable food served by our extremely friendly hosts. It's gone midnight before we stumble into bed.

Lisbon Day Three

I'm probably a little hungover as we start our third day here. There's a flea market sprawling over the hill behind the cathedral, but I need a coke and a coffee before I can face diving in. We spend all morning poking around the vast market before catching the iconic Number 28 tram down to the centre in search of some lunch. The tram is packed and hurtles breath-catchingly close to some of the buildings in the narrow streets of Alfama but it's a lot of fun.

The weather has turned a bit dreary and there's rain in the air as we wander about looking for a suitable place to eat. There's a good many cafés, and many a tourist trap before we settle on the fish restaurant Concha d'Ouro with tanks of fresh seafood lining the entrance and where Sarah dives into a hearty fish stew. I, still on the delicate side, have something grilled with chips. It's all delicious. The restaurant is packed but the service doesn't flag and we have a great time.

Just around the corner is the Santa Justa Lift. Built in 1902, the lift is a magnificent cast iron edifice linking the commercial district with the Bairro Alto. Today there's obviously something amiss, perhaps understaffing, as the queue takes forever to deliver us to the, admittedly very well appointed, lift compartment for the ride up. It's still gloomy and damp as we wander around the Bairro Alto and we're not sure whether to stick around or head home but I've heard the Church of Sao Roque is worth a visit. It's not very inviting from the outside, but the interior is more than spectacular and the associated museum turns out to be well worth a visit too. It's one of the earliest Jesuit churches in Portugal and the inside is Baroque on acid; gold, lapis lazuli, marble, Azulejo tilework, sculpture and art compete screamingly for your attention. We're very glad we made the effort.

We have had enough wandering now and even though it's properly raining now, walk back down the hill through some of the more high end shops and find our way back to the hotel before another evening of food and Fado at Tasqinha.

Lisbon Day Four

It's Sunday, and it's going to be a busy one; Sporting Lisbon are at home this evening and we've got tickets. First up however, is the tile museum; it's a little out of the centre so we catch a bus that should go past the door. After about 20 minutes it's clear we've gone too far so we get off and cross the road to catch one going back the other way. We get Google maps out and take a guess at which bus stop to get off at this time. The driver is clearly puzzled as to why these English people want to get off here and pulls up beside us and asks where we're going. We tell him, he rolls his eyes and says to get back on; "Why didn't you ask?". We shrug instead of trying to explain how unlikely it is an English bus driver would be as helpful. Two stops later we get off at a Lidl and follow the signs to short way to our target.

The museum is excellent and well worth the trauma getting there. After over an hour looking at tiles we catch a bus from just outside the museum this time and successfully find our way to lunch in a café near Praça Dom Pedro IV.  We're heading north today so catch the metro at Rossio so we can get up to Museu Calouste Gulbenkian for the afternoon. Suffering a minor diversion after turning left instead of right on leaving Sao Sebastiao metro station, we find the museum complex with its two architecturally interesting buildings situated in a lovely park. There's a very wide range of works from the ancient to contemporary art from around the world collected by the British Armenian businessman and philanthropist Gulbenkian and a modern exhibition centre including a brilliant timeline of modern Portuguese art history. The café is thankfully great too, as refreshment is much needed by now.

The José Alvalade stadium is further north and a change of metro lines away. The stadium is a riot of green and yellow atop, among other things, a large Lidl store where people are still shopping as the fans gather. I try to order some food and end up with what turns out to be a cold hotdog topped with chipsticks! The football is pretty good and 'we' end up winning quite comfortably.

Back in Rossio, in the square, there's a large marquee affair and lots of noise and bonhomie. It's a food fest and after our weird hotdogs, we're still a bit hungry. We stop for mulled wine while we decide what to eat and get a bell ring and hearty cheer when we tip the enthusiastic server. We settle on a vast quantity of grilled pork to eat and finish the day with, yes, a drink at tasqinha.

Lisbon Day Five

Day five is largely set aside for any shopping we still have to do, various gifts are purchased along with some Port for us and a couple of t-shirts for me. We visit the oldest bookshop in Portugal and brouse some of the more 'fashionable' precincts. After a couple of hours wandering the streets of central Lisbon we fetch up at the small beach by the main square and buy a cone of roast chestnuts from the nearby cart. It's warm and sunny and it's nice to relax for a little while and reflect on our time here.

We've arranged a car to take us to the station, further out of town this one, where the sleeper to Madrid will leave at about 10pm, so there's plenty of time for some food and a last drink at tasqinha before we leave. The train is a bit late and the platform is cold but ultimately we're on our way, sad to leave Lisbon but a day in Barcelona beckons.

Barcelona

There's quite a queue for local train tickets across Madrid to the Atocha station from where the Barcelona train leaves. We've been here before and grab some breakfast at a small concession before looking for our platform. The indoor rainforest is still quite impressive but the security queue and the queue for the travelator down to the plaform are both a little chaotic so we have no time to linger.

It's still very early as we leave Madrid and the onward problems we have thus far ignored are now beginning to play on our minds. We consider several options as to how we might complete the next leg, given the floods in France and the apparent lack of a connection across the border. SNCF still considers our TGV cancelled. We arrive at Sants station a couple of hours later and search out the Renfe help desk where they are utterly unconcerned at our worries, pointing to an A4 sheet of paper that we are assured says we are to turn up on time in the morning and all will be fine. Mollified we cross the Placa de Joan Peiro to our smart and business-like hotel, check in, freshen up and nap.

We have no firm plans for the day but want to do something so we decide to head for La Rambla and see what happens. The Metro calling itself Barcelona Sants is, judging by the length of the tunnels we have to walk down to get to it, actually in the next county. We're tired and thirsty and perhaps a bit tetchy but we get there and wander about until we find a suitable, if somewhat trendy, café for much-needed refreshment.

The Palau Guell is around the corner and we settle on that as a suitable visit, one we hadn't been to on our previous trip to the Catalan capital some 18 years earlier. It's an impressive Gaudi concoction hidden away in an otherwise anonymous side street. 

Another wander and we stumble upon the Mercado de Las Boqueria and we love a local market. This one is beautifully presented and we spend a happy hour there before catching a metro at Liceu back to Sants.

In most cities the area around the main railway station is less than salubrious but the neighbourhood behind our hotel is wonderfully "local" and we have a mooch around and grab a beer at a small bar while we wait for our restaurant to open. I cannot recommend La Tere Gastrobar enough. Modern, delicious, tapas style menu, beautifully presented, it turns a one-day stop-over into a memorable part of the holiday. We sleep with smiling faces.

Journey to Paris

For once we need no taxi, tram or other transport to the station, which is becoming a familiar place to us and we buy breakfast at the concession we'd used twice before. The queue for the Paris train, which SNCF still insists doesn't exist, is growing so we join it and are eventually given new reservations and an explanation of what is to happen. We will get a regular Renfe train to Beziers where we'll be put on coaches to Montpellier (a strange station in the middle of nowhere as it turns out) where we will catch the TGV from there to Paris Lyon as planned and only a couple of hours later than scheduled. A quick email to our Paris hotel reassures us both that we'll be there, just later than we'd arranged and we're off. The journey goes almost exactly as they had said, even if I did have to email SNCF to get on the TGV wifi because our ticket reference was for a train that wasn't running!

The taxi to our hotel gets stuck in a jam along a street that seems entirely populated by wedding shops but eventually turns up the hill of Montmartre and pulls up outside a large blue door. The building used to house Theo van Gogh and we take a few minutes to decipher the instructions for the gate lock to find our boutique hotel looking like a small house in the garden. We are welcomed heartily and shown to our basement room, which is very funky with a bath nestled in an alcove. More or less across the road is what one would describe as a typical French bistro and we have a typical French bistro meal and thoroughly enjoy it.

Day Nine - Birthday in Paris

Today is my birthday and I've woken with a stinking cold. It's a chill morning, the warmth of Lisbon long behind us, and it's not promising to be a great birthday. We climb Montmartre to Sacre Couer and find a pharmacy where after a few questions the pharmacist sells me a packet of cold cure which knocks the whole shebang on the head within twenty minutes, certainly by the time the Montmartre museum opens at 10am.

The museum itself is set in Renoir's house and is packed with everything relating to Montmartre and its artistic legacy, including the brilliantly preserved atelier de Suzanne Valadon, model and painter, the first woman painter admitted to the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts.

It's going to be a very "arty" day. At the Grand Palais, just off the Champs Elysee, they're hosting two exhibitions; El Greco and Toulouse-Lautrec and we're off to see both. We emerge from the Metro just outside the Palais to be confonted with a labyrinth of barriers making up an elaborate queueing system. But there's no-one in it. Fairly relieved, we twist and turn our way to the entrance and get a double ticket each. Turns out there's no queue because everyone is already inside. The El Greco is packed but brilliant. There's a café and we manage to get in, find a table in what turns out to be a lull in proceedings and get a pretty good lunch before tackling the Toulouse-Lautrec, which is equally fascinating.

Dinner is at La Maison Rose, a charming restaurant in Montmartre run by a lovely couple; she very business oriented, he just loving having people round for dinner. It's a great meal and a lovely end to my birthday.

 

 

 

 Day Ten and Home

The oft dreaded 'last day' arrives and we book an Uber to Gare du Nord, who turns up on time but for some reason 50m up the road. The Eurostar lounge at Paris is as grim as usual with the added confusion of a lost belt. Okay, mislaid. Thoughtlessly I wore trousers requiring a belt to stay up which, having a metal buckle, had to be removed for the x-ray machine. Trouble was, it didn't seem to come out the other end and it wasn't in there - they checked. Train waiting, passports to be checked meant I had to abandon the mystery and move on. Only after getting through the entire check-in process and finding a seat for the duration did I find it tangled up in my coat. Oh well.

The traffic in London was appalling and our taxi driver got caught in a worse jam by taking a 'quicker' detour but we got to Waterloo in time and caught the train home after lunch at the café we had breakfast after Scotland. The journey had a final twist however as we were taken via Winchester seemingly just for the fun of it. But home we were.

Carbon saved by not flying: 320kg

Our first trip - Venice by train

March 2011

It all started as our silver wedding anniversary approached. Sarah had always wanted to visit Venice and I thought it would be great to be able to do this on the Orient Express, so I looked into it as a possible surprise gift. The "official" Venice-Simplon Orient Express turned out to be prohibitively expensive and actually a bit underwhelming in what it offered. Scouting around for alternatives we happened upon Planet Rail, specialists in first class rail travel who could offer a first class trip to Venice, four nights in a 4 star hotel and return via Montreux in Switzerland, staying at the 5 star lakeside Hotel Splendid, all for a bit less than the Orient Express charged for just the train. It also offered a great personal service and after a few chats on the phone, our trip was set.

We arrived way too early at St Pancras International and took lunch at Yo! Sushi before heading to the Eurostar premier lounge. Business class on the Eurostar is very comfortable; wide seats, a snack lunch and plenty of legroom, so the London to Paris leg passed very pleasantly. 

Our trip included all transfers so, having never been met by a driver before, we looked eagerly for our name being held up as we joined the crowds at Gare du Nord. We had ages to get to Paris-Bercy but our driver was clearly in a hurry and as we cut across the traffic to turn into the small station next to the Gare de Lyon, he hit the kerb hard and blew both nearside tyres and limped up to the station entrance. We left him staring forlornly at his damaged wheels and trundled our cases into the station and took the lift up to the lounge.

The Paris-Venice sleeper

Bercy is an odd little station, quite modern compared with many of the other Parisian mainline stations, and the first class lounge is very comfortable, but it's not very welcoming. We had the one free cup of coffee we were allowed and waited for our train, the sleeper to Venice, to be called. It was to be our first trip on a sleeper and also our first meal in a restaurant car. The food was ok, nothing special, but it felt fantastic to be sitting down to a proper meal as we sped through the French countryside. Our compartment was pretty comfortable and having had a smooth ride during our meal, the tracks got a little bumpier and helpfully rocked us to sleep.

Two Gentlemen on Verona station

We slept soundly though the Alps and didn't notice the scheduled stop at Milan. We were awoken with coffee and a strange, pre-packed croissant as we approached Verona where, conveniently, there were two gentlemen on the platform. Leaving Padua, the rural landscape slowly became a bit more industrialised as we approached Mestre and, as suggested, we tried calling the water taxi company to say we were on time but the language barrier and a poor connection thwarted our efforts. We were a little worried about being stranded at the station so we called Planet Rail and they came through, reassuring us that the taxi would be waiting.



If you ignore the large car park at the end of the causeway, approaching La Serenissima by rail has to be about the best way to arrive in this magical city and stepping out of Santa Lucia station to this view is breathtaking - especially when you then get met by a smart chap in one of the exquisite water taxis that serve the city. Venice is one city where, for the first-time visitor, everything is new and exciting. The trip to the hotel was a brief but fascinating journey, passing grocery barges, builders boats and even a water hearse, we arrived safely at the Hotel Ai Mori D'Oriente in the Cannaregio, away from the centre but close enough to be convenient.

The additional joy of this trip was the coincidental presence of our friend, and Venezianista, Christine whose own trip overlapped ours by a day, so having settled in to our room we met Chris for dinner and a few pointers to getting the most out of our stay (You too can benefit from here insights at www.littleguidetovenice.co.uk ). We met again for coffee the next morning before we headed off to our first stop, the vaparetto to the Gallerie dell' Accademia. By the time we got there the rain had started in earnest and was now tipping down. Unfortunately, the quick dash to the entrance was fruitless as we discovered we had to queue for a ticket at the ticket office which was situated OUTSIDE in a portakabin alongside the building, with no shelter. We joined the queue along with over 100 other people, so by the time we finally got in, we were soaked to the skin. Wandering round a gallery squelching is never pleasant but we enjoyed the art and were merely thoroughly damp by the time we stepped out again. The rain had eased but the clouds loomed ominously for the rest of the day.

The restaurant on the second night,
This was before the fish tank burst!

At the end of the first day the water
was nearly over the edge.

One of the best ways to see the city is on the regular vaparetto (water bus) services - get a season ticket - so we spent some time cruising the Grand Canal before spending the afternoon at the Peggy Guggenheim gallery. Dinner was at a great little diner near our hotel, with seafaring scenes on the wall and a delicious line in local seafood. The evening was brought to an entertaining end as their fish tank suddenly exploded. We left them to clear up and walked back to the hotel with the canal water lapping at the top of the banks.

Details are a little hazy now but our second day was taken up with what might be called the main sights. Taking the vaparetto to St Mark's we had a great time exploring the Doge's Palace, had a nice coffee in the square and watched a marching band of the Italian Army going through its paces - far more impressive than the RM band as they also have a bit of a knees-up as they go! We had decided from the outset to do as much as we could squeeze in, including a gondola ride. It's easy to feel a bit ripped off as they charge a small fortune for sometimes not very much but if you stay away from those at the main tourist spots you can get a decent trip for your money. We paid €80 and did not feel short changed at all.

After lunch we took a vaparetto out to the nearby island of Murano, historically famous for glass-making. Sadly most of the glass is now imported from places like Poland, but we found perhaps the last surviving works and went in for a demonstration. They showed us how they made their famous chandeliers and demonstrated glass blowing with a few tricks. Exiting through the gift shop we were happy to get what we now felt were genuine souvenirs - I'm particularly happy with my cufflinks.

Blowing glass in the last surviving glass works on Murano

It only rained on the first day we were in Venice and we managed to wear ourselves out packing in as much of the city as we could manage, even though we barely scratched the surface. Our third day was spent wandering the city again, mostly around the Rialto, its market and old piazze of San Polo where we found a small café for lunch and a spritz, spent a hour or two in the Scuola Grande di San Rocco marvelling at Tintoretto and discovered a beautiful little print works where we bought some book plates. Our wanderings brought us back to the station and we took our weary feet home.

On our last full day we decided to travel out to the colourful island of lace makers and artists; Burano. It's a fair distance but there's a vaparetto out to the Punta Sabbioni where you can catch another one to Burano. It's a pretty and quite peaceful place to spend a few hours as not many people take the trouble to go there. 

The colourful houses of Burano

Here are a few of our other pictures:

Rialto

Watching the football in a local bar

Gondolas outside the Doges' Palace -
the water is a little high!

Italian military band in San Marco,

More gondolas

An octopus at the marketplace

Our final morning in Venice dawned and we were picked up by another water taxi and returned to Santa Lucia for our morning train to Milan. The first class compartment was surprisingly full of families as we enjoyed our complementary coffee and brioche-like affair and politely declined the free newspaper. Approaching Milan, the railway seems to go through the worst areas of what I'm assured is a beautiful city, cities do seem to show their worst side to the railway, but the station itself is an impressive edifice and we found our way to a small fast food outlet for lunch before catching the train up through the mountains to Montreux on the banks of Lake Geneva.

The track to Switzerland winds past the beautiful Lake Maggiore and we enjoyed many stunning views in the spring sunshine before entering the Simplon tunnel to Brig. The rails then follow the Rhone valley to Lake Geneva and around to Montreux. Our hotel was just across the road from the station and our room had a wonderful lake view. One thing we noticed on our journey through Switzerland was the preponderance of vines - we had no idea the Swiss made wine in any quantity, so we ordered a bottle with dinner and jolly nice it was too. Dinner was ridiculously expensive but delicious and after a turn along the promenade, marvelling at the apparent incongruity of the Freddie Mercury statue, we turned in.

We had most of the morning to kill before our train to Lausanne so we resolved to visit the Chateau de Chillon a mile or two up the road. Swiss buses are as reliable as you'd expect and we had a good couple of hours to explore what turned out to be a fascinating castle on the lake before returning in good time for our local train to the regional capital. As we travelled along we noticed even more vines taking up every available space along the track-side and yet we still haven't seen any Swiss wine on the supermarket shelves here. At Lausanne we caught the TGV to Paris with lunch and wine included as we sped through the countryside on our way home, inspired to further rail adventures.

Montreux from Chateau de Chillon

Carbon saved: 160kg