On her own two bare feet

Day 22:

Leisurely stroll around the lakes of INTERLAKEN area, punctuated by stops for a picnic with the ducks, coffees on reclining lounges, and a cosy loveseat at the edge of the lake – the perfect vantage point from which to watch mad dogs and Englishman enjoy a brisk swim. Sunburnt and heat affected we stumbled into our local for a beer and cider over a few rounds of cards on the outdoor terrace overlooking the mountains.

Day 23:

Quick trip up to the capital BERN, we wandered through the extensive markets picking up apple strudels and the like fresh from the bakers oven. On through the underground shops to end with a coffee in the central square. On across the border into Germany, we stopped at FREIBERG for a pint of local beer made onsite (the first beer I have ever enjoyed), and a mansize plate of hearty, simple, overcooked stodge. We explored the cobbled streets, alley ways and canals, animated by musicians and street performers at every turn. Back in the car to find a place to camp in the BLACK FOREST just a little further north, but as the rain set in we settled on a family run, rustic inn south of FREUDENSTADT. We drank regional wine, which ironically was the most undrinkable liquid I had ever been served, watered down as it was with half flat mineral water. I guess thats why you never hear about German wines.

Day 24: Easter sunday celebrated with lindt chocolates in bed. Short drive to TRIBERG for a nature walk to “Germanys largest waterfall” which consisted of a stream 165m long, punctuated by drops of about 1 metre. Everyone else was madly taking photos. We were still looking for the waterfall. But the walk was peaceful and we found a spot to squirrel watch as they scampered and buried their nutty treasures. Black forest cake in town, then a little shopping for birkenstock shoes and cuckoo clocks. On to BADEN BADEN a spa town filled with nouveau riche tourists where camp sites were unheard of. We drove around looking for a hotel but it was Easter Sunday and most places were closed or full. I drove into one place with a perfect sign on one side, smashed on the other, and as I proceeded down the long drive the place looked dodgy and a little intimidating.  In a tipsy haze brought on by a lunchtime beer with no lunch, I swiftly reversed into a 3 point turn to get the hell out, and smashed the tail light into a tree. Finally found a guesthouse close to town and set off on a lovely promenade along a stream through the botanic gardens. The gardens go for kilometres, with a path past grand mansions, manicured lawns and hedge mazes, spectacular statues and beautiful fountains. We drank more beer and had german pub grub (more cheese-bread-potato for the vegetarian).

Day 25:

Spa heaven!!! The Freiderich-something 19th century thermal baths with 17 rooms, each individually decorated with dome ceilings, mosaics, paintings, sculptures, stainglass windows, and ranging from sauna to steam rooms, and cool to warm to hot baths.  I felt a little like royalty being bathed in body milk and brushed and scrubbed from head to toe. Then after a few hours of soaking being swaddled like a baby in warm sheets and a blanket for a seista in the sleeping room. BLISS. We slowly made our way on to NUREMBERG in Bavaria, and a found a busy market where we loaded up on the regional specialities: sausages, gingerbread and herbacious beer (yummy). Being Easter Monday, still very little was open, so we settled on an Indian Feast across from our hotel – without a doubt the best meal in Germany so far – enough said.

Day 18: Fast road to the Italian border until we hit the Alps, then slowed to a wind and weave as we glee-ed and gasp-ed at the spectacular snow kissed mountains. Arrived at a camp site just south of CHAMONIX. The reception was closed and the young girl and older gentleman gardening were very unforthcoming. I enquired in French about a campsite for the night. She told me to choose any place, then come back to checkin. We chose a spot about 50m away from where they were gardening and set up camp. Soon we had coffee brewing and I was serving up boysonberry pie with vanilla cream for afternoon tea. Each campsite seemed to be demarcated by a wooden chair which we used for a coffee table. I tried again to check-in but the gardener told me to come back later, maybe after 5.30, which I then had to assume was when the owners returned. The Madame and Meisseur of the house did indeed return. He motioning to us in an annozed sweep of the arm as he drove past. She stepping out and coming toward me with the curtest of Bonjours in response to mine. She then proceed to rant so quickly in French that all I could catch was CANT USE CHAIRS. So I quickly moved our coffee cups thinking, ok problem solved. My lack of comprehension seemed to exasperate her further, so she switched into English yelling at me YOU CANT CAMP WHERE THERE ARE CHAIRS, THESE PLACES ARE RESERVED!!! I was taken aback but manage to respond simply that we were told to camp anywhere we chose, but she had already turned and walked away and ignored me. Infuriated with this treatment, considering we had tried multiple times to checkin and had asked where to camp, we moved the tent and jumped in the car to find a more amicable place. We hit town and settled on a cheap and cheerful backpackers before Kelly stealthily drove back to throw our gear in the car and drive off without paying for the insult. We had the most fabulous meal so far at La Petite Kitchen – a window view of the mountain, warm to our boots, delightful service in French to me, in English to Kelly. I had St Jacques scallops with veloute – after years of being vegetarian these are worth the wait. WOW.

Day 19: The nex day we caught the little train up to the Glacier and ventured into the blue ice cave, uplit and with soundtracked ethereal music, wowed by the airbubbles frozen in time, it looked entirely surreal until you got a wet hand. AMAZING.  Boulangerie lunch in the central square, then off up the moutain by cable car for a 4000m panoramic view of the alps and valleys from above the clouds. STUNNING. But only for a few minutes before the altitude sickness reared up and sent us both at a lethargic and dizzy pace back to a more comfortable 2000m view for hot chocolate. Picnic dinner in the park, ambling walk, watching the rock climbers do their thing.

Day 20:

Crossed the border to Geneva for a brief look around, then on to LAUSANNE for a picnic on the Lake. A little further into the heart of the JUNGFRAU region. We are camping in a valley surrounded on all sides by sky high cliff faces, waterfalls and snow heavy mountains. We plan to stay for the few days over easter and just chill out. Maybe do a hike or two, eat fondue, go to a chocolate tasting, see waterfalls, read a book and not do much else. Ah, the serenity.

Day 21:

This may have been one of the best days so far. No GPS. No guidebook. No churches. No sites. No plan. No itinerary. Home cooked breakfast as the sun slowly graced us, climbing along the cliff face to the valley. Throwing off thermals, scarves, jackets it became immediate Tshirt weather. We talked over 2 pots of coffee, headed into town, found our way over footbridges that overlay chrystal blue water streams. Watched paraglders. Ate artisanal icecream. Found a simple bakery for lunch. Fell in and out of shops. Picnic blanket afternoon and siesta in the sun. Preparing tonights meal with market fresh food and a bottle of Australian shiraz. Nothing to do but just be here in this moment. Birds calling, waters falling, cow bells rocking side to side. This is actually what travelling is all about.

Day 13:

Despite a late night we hit the road early on our way to fabled Tuscany. We reached SIENA by midday and hitched our tent in a daffodil meadow about 4kms from the old centre of town. The sun was shining but biting alpine winds herded us into a rustic warm restaurant where we took comfort in regional cuisine. Grounded and warmed by the food we discovered the town with its exsquisitely appealing window dressings of flowers, meats, cheeses, pastries, leathergoods. Late afternoon we wandered home to enjoy a picnic blanket, a bottle of a chianti, a good book and just generally soaking up the last rays of the Tuscan sun.

Day 14:

A day to explore the towns in the surrounding area. MONTALCINO we enjoyed coffee and pastries on the central square under the slowly emerging sun. The bell tower marked a musical welcome. Tuscany has been a turn from the intellectual journey of museums, galleries, ruins, and sites to the spiritual journey of slowing, savouring, inspiring, and allowing myself to drop down and in to the pace and feel of life among the rolling hills and tucked away villages that come to life at every turn. Next to something something TERME for hot springs and a hot lunch as the day had quickly turned grey and the wind again picked up as if carrying the cold from the snow. For a reason still unfathomed, the whole town was shut down except for one bar/restaurant. Settling on a quick, hot plate of pasta we were presented with two plastic containers of microwave-heated pre-cooked spaghetti and preservative sauce – a sacraligious gesture in the region of slow cooked, artisanal food. The hot springs were instead hot baths, so we skipped on to PIENZA, another tiny hill top town and procured organic olive oil, limoncello, and generally explored the various gourmet food shops. Final stop MONTECILLANO for an exsquisite selection of artisanal shops seling everything form hand crafted leather theatrical masks, to mosiacs, to leadlights, to etchings, to knitted and felted clothes, to copper cookware, and ceramics. The rain set in so we wandered about in drizzle a little longer and then made our way back to the car, and back home for an aperitivo at the local bar.

Day 15:

It rained hard all night, and the tent is so ‘compact’ that both the tops of our heads and bottom of our socks got wet from being pressed up against the sides. We quickly packed the sodden tent and hit the road on our way to PISA via SAN GAMIGNANO (or something like that). We had our best Italian meal of the trip, seated in a refurbished butcher shop still with original brickwork and shiny stainless steal runners and meat hooks. Lesson learnt from yesterday’s microwave lunch is to only eat in places that advertised pasta ‘fresh’ fresca. We dined on pasta made on site, cooked to perfection, finished with sauces so delicious we both literally wiped our plates clean with the accompanying freshly baked bread. Warmed and satiated we wandered the tiny shops catching exsquisite glimpses and 360 degree views of region. We drove on to PISA and considering the previous cold wet night in a tent, upgraded to a bungalow with covered outdoor kitchen and terrace. Italy has been an experience of contrasts, and much more difficult to connect to people and just generally get by, without some sense of the language. We both miss being in France so have decided after our next stop in FLORENCE to get back there, and to make a day trip or two to Switzerland instead of a whole drive. This will give us more time with less kilometres and less haste.

Day 16:

Slept in and ha a leisurely gourmet breakfast on the terrace cooked by my own personal chef 🙂 Read my book ‘a thousand days in Tuscany’ in a sunny spot and felt the power of simple, fully lived moments (thanks Eckhart Tolle). Quick stop at the leaning tower, well worth it, then on just another hour to Florence. Set up camp on the hills above and overlooking the entire city. SPECTACULAR! A quick trip via GPS to the closest supermaket for supplies ended in a 2 hour ordeal as she navigated us into areas inaccessible by roadworks, then another shop that we kept missing the turn for despite re-doing it 3 times (with a 1.4km re-run each time), then the grand finale following her soothing voice into a pedestrian only area and being stopped by police who told us to slowly make our way out by turning right, which we did, straight into an absolute swarm of people, like driving through a parade, being variously told off by locals, and continuing our crawl of shame at 1km an hour with no one moving out of the way and some deliberately walking in front of us as if to prove a point. Finally managed to find a way out the jumble of narrow streets and set off back to camp disheartened only to find a supermarket 500m from where we were staying! We dropped the car home and set off on the bus to explore the centre on foot (much more relaxing). It is music festival time in Florence so make shift bands of musicians are getting together on street corners. We ate gelato on the steps of the pink and green marble cathedral, one of the largest in the world. Enjoyed the markets and just generally soaked up the feel of the city. We rode home to the illuminate panoramic view and the mood of Italy has again lifted.

Day 9 continued:

One of the first towns we came across in Italy was SAN REMO so we naively decided to follow the signs into the centre hoping to magic a car park and a pizza place for lunch. Lights were out at intersections of 7 roads making everyone duck and weave and negotiate by hand gestures to get through. Motos were coming at me in all directions. Cars pulled up abruptly on the curbside wheels akimbo, put on their hazard lights, and flung their door into the already ridiculously narrow street causing Kelly to squeal several times and causing me to indraw breath in order to fit between both cars coming towards me and the cars parked on the other side. After an hour and a half of driving around we hadn’t managed to find a car park or the road out of town. The GPS was not coping, erratically instructing me to make a U turn, turn left no turn right, and directing me into hotel parking lots and dead end streets. Kelly was having a low blood sugar moment so also not coping and was erratically bursting out into fits of road rage and then almost catatonically repeating the phrase “we are never getting out of here, we are never going to find the way out”.  We then got stuck behind a garbage truck stopping every 100m for a kilometre while traffic was piling up beeping behind us. All I could do was laugh hysterically – how could it get any worse. On the 3rd time around the same route I had to ignore a no turn left sign and do it anyway as seemingly this was the only road out of town. We hit the motorway and finally with out troubles behind us took a deep sigh of relief, only to be directed off the highway and on to a road destined back to SAN REMO! At this point Kelly yelled at me to pull over, burst out of the car and burst into tears. I quietly made us sandwiches and we ate in silence by the side of the road. Calmer we navigated our way back to the highway and on to Genoa. From there we took the slow road winding around the peninsula offering magnificent views of the towns built into the hillsides and the wild ocean.  At dusk we found a camp ground by the sea, wandered the promenade and finally found a pizza place with so much glee that we devoured 3 of them, washed down with house wine.

Day 10:

We got up early to continue the drive to LA SPEZIA south of the Cinque Terre national park. The drive was spectacular weaving through forest with early morning mists rising and the first glimmers of sunshine peaking through.  We wound up a few hundred metres before gently ambling down past 4 house towns and following the river toward our destination. We jumped on a train to the 5 coastal villages unreachable by road. I imagined a romantic B&B a top a cliff but instead had all illusions shattered by 1000 Italian tourists who decided to take their family Sunday outing to the same spot. We had planned to do a 12km coastal walk that links each village, but this was closed, which left little to do except eat and look at other tourists. So we trained back to our car and decided to ditch the idea and drive 4 hours to ROME. We arrived at dusk to a 4 star camping place which meant the shower block had an indoor fountain, underfloor heating and played classical music while you bathed.

Day 11:

We spilled out from the train into the Piazza del Popolo. Immediately impressed by that larger than life size marble statues that encircled the entire square, we ambled down streets and bumped into monuments looming on every corner. Absolutely gobsmacked silent by the Pantheon, the pagan temple overwritten by a christian conversation, both stories still legible in the architecture. Gelato on the steps of Trevi Fountain – chocolate mousse and fondant flavours – I vow to never eat icecream again. Late afternoon pizza in a small rustic family run place. A few hours to explore the high brow (labels), mid brow (brands) and low brow (souvenir) stores before falling onto the Spanish Steps with aching feet. Dragged ourselves back to camp for sunset aperetivos and a homecooked meal before a well-earned collapse for the evening.

Day 12:

Second attempt at the Colosseum, closed the day before. We happen to be here in Roma appreciation week which means all sites are free and therefore unseasonably crowded. We lined up to get inside, then avoided the audioguide queues to go straight to the entrance turnstiles. However in typical Italian logic, we were redirected to again line up for the free tickets to put into the turnstiles before we could get in! Unlike the Pantheon, the Colosseum requires quite a bit of historical knowledge and creative visualisation to construct how impressive it must once have been. We took a metro to the Vatican City and were awed by St Peters Basilica but missed the Sistine Chapel closing by 15 minutes. We metroed back to central Roma to meet my aunt Angela who is a resident nun. She took us through streets we hadn’t yet seen, past the uplit fountains and pavement artistry of the Plaza Nuevo, to a local restaurant not inhabited by tourists. We were shouted to a delicious dinner of arrabiata penne pasta, margarita pizza, fried artichokes, veal cutlets, all washed down with regional wine, and finished with espresso and limoncello shots. We cosied into a corner of the restaurant talking and laughing late into the night until we were the only customers left. Having missed our respective trains we decided to taxi to Angela’s car and then she would give us a lift to the campground. It took 20 minutes or more to get a cab at the taxi rank as people kept cutting in and stealing them before us. Once in Angela’s car she took the freeway out of town and we took a belated exit signed to the suburb we were staying in. 100m past the exit was a poorly signed fork in the road, we went left, and after 20 minutes of driving up a sparsely lit and empty road realised we were not going the right way. No GPS. No map. No service station open. It was now 1am and we had only ever driven to the campsite once and that was under the guidance of the GPS, we hadnt paid too much attention, certainly not enough to find it by landmarks. We turned back on the freeway, stopping abruptly with hazard lights at each exit to inspect the 20 signs to search for clues. We saw a camping sign and followed it to another site. We finally made our way back to the original fork in the road and this time bore right, and fell upon our campsite within a few minutes. We said a cheerful if weary goodnight, it was now 1.30am, and fell onto the air mattress satiated and thankful.

Day 4:

We continued on the Dordogne slow roads averaging about 30km an hour around hairpin turns and winding up and down valleys. We stopped at a wine co-operative and picked up several bottles of different wines from the region before making a rash afternoon decision to head quickly south to Carcassonne and into the south of france, enjoying the backdrop of the snow-capped Pyrenees mountains as we drove. We arrived in Carcassonne near dusk and headed into town for a quick look around, only to pace straight back to the car after about a block and locking the doors, the only other people on the streets being vagrants, drunks and men on the make. We headed up to the uplight forted castle on the hill which did look idyllic against the pink fading sky, and wandered the cobbled streets in search of gelato and a glass of wine.

Days Five and Six:

We continued on to Avignon through Nantes for a wander of the covered markets and Nimes for a picnic near the fountain and a walking tour of the monuments.  We camped by the river in Avignon on the island across from the old forted city and decided to stay 2 nights to rest and be thankful after so much intense driving.  Perfect sunny days, walks along the river, reading on the riverbank, meandering through the artistan clothes and crafts shops, gourmet chocolates and fudges,  jazz and blues music to diversify our roadtrip soundtrack. Lunch in the central square was exsquisite and a goeey fondant dessert with caramel icecream truly worth writing home about – a perfect 10.

Day 7:

Our camping neighbour John, a 67 year old retiree from Lancashire, was packing up to leave the next morning and planning to “thumb it” to the south of France – without a moment hesitation I offered him a lift with us. We took the fast road to the coast and stopped in the fishing village of Cassis and enjoyed a sunny coffee, a forrage of the local patisserie and a walk around the marina.  John was not happy here, or any of the next few places we stopped, being variously “too far out of town”, “too expensive”, “too much up a hill”, “too far from the train”, “not lively enough”, “too busy” etc. etc. We ended up finding a beachside town La Lavendou a few hours east of Nice and all camped there for the night, sharing a reasonably amicable sunset drinks at the marina.

Day 8:

We packed up early the next day for our slow coastal drive through to Nice. John, to our surprise, also packed up and invited himself along. As we drove out he then complained about how he could have really stayed in that lovely town for a week, but that he would really like to continue into Italy and Switzerland (subtext with us!) Kelly said we could take him as far as Nice.  We accidentally got off the coastal road and had to negotiate a one lane wide, two way road, across a mountain range to get back. The view was spectacular and only one car passed us going the opposite direction. At the peak of the road I pulled left to the edge to take photos of the panorama of the coastline, a cyclist coming the opposite way was stopped doing the same thing. At this exact moment a garbage truck came rocketing up the hill to come nose to nose with our vehicle.  A cacophony of beeping and arm gesticulating from both passengers of the truck hurried me to reverse back along the left side of the narrow road, which I had forgotten was the wrong side. When reminded I pulled violently to the right side almost knocking the cyclist off the cliff and roughly backing over an invisible 30cm ledge down into a parking space. The truck was able to pass easily and as he did I smiled sheepishly and gave a repeated thumbs up.  I now have a vague recollection that this means something different in France, an ‘up yours’ type gesture, as the truck halted abruptly and the man closest started yelling so quickly I couldnt understand. All I could say was simply Je ne comprends pas, Je suis australienne, Je suis desolee (I dont understand, Im austrailan, Im sorry) to which he tutted annoyedly and sped off. We got back to the coast road soon enough and stopped in St Tropez for a sunny coffee on the marina. We continued into Cannes for lunch after 3pm and found everything closed. I personally escorted John to the tourist office to find the next possible camp ground to leave him at, it was 7km away and we left without eating desperate to desposit him outside of our lives. We transited through busy Nice to the next seaside village that had been recommended Villefranche Sur Mer, and booked into a top floor hotel room with a bath and an ocean view for some much needed replenishment.  We enjoyed our solitude, and wandered aimlessly through the endearing old town and ate an overpriced but well enjoyed meal overlooking the lights of the peninsula.

Day Nine:

We got up luxuriously late and enjoyed croissants and pain au chocolats in bed across ocean views, before wandering the food market scoring olive tapenade, home made macaroons, chevre and comte cheese, a fresh baguette, fruit and veges for our onward journey. We drove on to Monaco to eyeball the casino and the wealthy who migrate there, and then onto the border town of Menton before deciding to cross into Italy.

Day One:

We made our way through a peak hour Metro trip heavily loaded with backpacks and camping gear to pick up the lease car. With a GPS, road signs and a photocopied map from Citroen there was an overload of contradictory directions that led us to miss our turn off and drive in a maze of narrow streets, get stuck in a traffic jam, reverse up a one way street, and negotiate a six exit round about to get back to Citroen. By this point it became clear the GPS was more reliable than me at navigation,  so with this new attitude we found the freeway and set off for the Loire Valley.

After stopping for a magnificent tour of the Palace of Versailles and its hectares of manicured gardens, we resumed on the A11 freeway. As we neared our exit we were struck by a toll booth that demanded a whopping 17 euro fee. We tried all 5 of our visa cards (travel, debit, Australian credit, UK credit) all were politely declined by the automatic toll booth. I hit the hazard lights as we scraped jacket pockets for coins, we had close to no cash. Kelly hit the help button and in broken English begun a barrage of phrases “card no workey” “five card no good”. The little voice of help spoke no english except for the repeated CASH? CARD? This continued back and forth until the little voice finally gave up and came out to talk to us.  She spoke slowly enough for me to understand there was no way we were leaving without paying the full toll – at this stage we only had 13 euro. She took Kellys drivers licence and address, and instructed us to pay the remaining 4 euros by cheque at a postoffice, which we gratefully agreed to do before she let us go.

As we exited, the car windows came down to let in the country air and the sight of glowing green fields interspersed by flowers and stone cottages.  We arrived at my friends farm in Baugé to stay in the attic room of her 17th century farm house under exposed wooden beams. We enjoyed a warm meal with local wine and ancient bread baked in a wood fired oven by the farmer across the way. After the intensity of Paris I felt myself starting to unfurl and enjoy the slowness of country life.

Day Two:

We left at a leisurely mid-morning pace to find the farmers markets and procure cheeses, salad ingredients and a baguette for our lunch time picnic planned later that day. We started a drive highlighted in the Backroads of France guide from Rochefort to Bordeaux along the West Coast of France.  We stopped if we felt drawn to, to see the little stone communities built a top the hill and protected by a now defunct fort and moat where once there was a sea. Nearing nightfall we approach Blaye, a portside community with the old town at the top of the hill that had seaside camping. Unfortunatley it was closed until May, so with little option we nestled our little Citroen in amonst the campervan set next to the Port.  The sight of our converting the car into a bed with blow up mattress brought the amusement and conversation of serious campers who came to find out about us and admire our pretty car “tres jolie voiture!” We had sunset drinks at a local terrasse bar and ate at the only restaurant open in low season. We spent an uncomfortable night at a near 45 degree angle of head to feet in a fetal position which became more pronounced as gravity overtook me in my sleep while outside it poured rain.

Day Three:

It was a relief when morning came. We cooked and ate hot breakfast with gusto before jumping back on the road to Bordeaux. The walking tour weaved us around monuments and spectacular archiecture as we were drawn to explore the chocolateries, artisan shops and vast array of markets that animated the pedestrian city centre. The annual organic market was in full swing so we picked up some gourmet foods to spice up our campsite cooking, and even scored a second hand espresso maker. After a morning spent convinced we could live here, we dragged ourselves back onto the road to commence a slow weaving tour of the Dordogne region following the river of the same name. We drove unaffected through several small towns hoping to find a winery but all were closed (as everything is on a Sunday in France). Feeling a little disheartened we drove over a hill to be captivated by an immense Chateeaux built a top a dramatic cliff face overlooking the river at a little place called Beynac. We got out of the car and neither of us wanted to leave so we checked in to a charming family_run riverside hotel. Finally having a hot shower was close to a religious experience. We cosied into the communal lounge against an open fire and made conversation with other travellers over a bottle of local wine. Before sunset we wandered the steep winding streets that gave better and better views across the valley. That night we enjoyed a delicious four course meal and I slept like a baby. Today w are off to discover the inside of the castle before continuing on to explore this magical region. Except for the odd car, the countryside feels like stepping back in time to the medieval ages.

The first leg of the flight from Brisbane to Hong Kong was packed with trying to fit in as many episodes of 30 ROCK and MODERN FAMILY as I could before we landed. I had 3 hours in HK airport, a building with over 500 arrival/departure gates. I took great pleasure in refereeing a game of hackey-sack between a group of six elderly asian men all dressed in practical combination tracksuits and pulling out impressive splits maneuvres. I took a combination sedative of family size margarita pizza, a large glass of shiraz and a 30 minute reflexology foot massage. I just made it to board my next flight and then fell asleep before the safety demonstration and awoke startled and disorientated when the plane finally took off. I then slept a full 9 hours on the leg to Paris.

I arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport an hour late, without an arrival card (I had slept through getting that too), without a map of where the studio apartment was located (just an address), without a way to contact my girlfriend (no phone) and without Euros – but I was feeling confident. I made my way through customs (which was one uniformed man and a beagle standing authoritatively eyeballing everyone that exited). I took the overland train (RER) to the city and changed to a metro to connect to Strasbourg Saint Denis station which is in a central Paris location (2nd).

When I emerged from the station it became clear this was not the Paris I was familiar with. Picture a Kings Cross of migrant sex workers in their declining years huddled along the supermarket shop front, around corners and up alleyways. They work long hours here, from 4pm to 8am daily, with a precision you could set your watch to. They even approaching early morning business men with a french form of “How YOU doing?” We have found it easy to naviagate our way home by sex shop directions e.g. turn left at the zapping parlour, opposite the peep show. But behind closed doors our studio could be anywhere and we are loving it.

We spent a day at the Louvre looking at thousands of paintings that seemed to repeat two central themes. 1. women exposing their breasts without any context to do so (like during a hunting expedition, or in the background of someone dying in the foreground) 2. men with chisseled features wrestling each other naked – but not in a gay way of course. I guess not much has changed since the renaissance.

We had dinner last night with my old flatmate Gwenelle in Montparnasse. She served 3 courses starting with a white port aperitif and a selection of cheeses direct from the fromagerie. Next a sweet potato and white bean puree with crusty bread torn off the baguette and eaten just as heartily. For dessert an apple tatin with burnt caramel icecream. We rolled home merry with carbs.

The rain has set in today which challenged our plans for a picnic on the Ile st Louis. Instead we wandered through Paris’ oldest food market and discovered some cobbled streets with speciality butchers, florists, bakers, pastry makers and the like. We found a local camping store and have got the bare essentials for our trip: mattress, cooker, seats and crockery. Most towns have camping so planning to wing it and keep the itinerary as open as possible. 

We pick up the lease car tomorrow and have already completed three rounds of paper/scissors/rock to see who gets to navigate us out of central Paris (why am I so predictable – always with the scissors). Tomorrow night the Loire Valley staying on an old friends farm.

• 28^th March – 31^st March                Paris, FRANCE
• 1^st April                                                 Loire Valley, FRANCE
• 2^nd April                                                Bordeaux, FRANCE
• 3^rd April                                                 Nimes, FRANCE
• 4^th April                                                 Avignon, FRANCE
• 5^th April                                                 Nice, FRANCE
• 6^th April                                                 Cinque Terre, ITALY
• 7^th April                                                 Florence, ITALY (via Pisa)
• 8^th April                                                 Florence, ITALY
• 9^th April                                                 Florence, ITALY
• 10^th April                                              Rome, ITALY (via Siena)
• 11^th April                                              Rome, ITALY
• 12^th April                                              Rome, ITALY
• 13^th April                                              Sorrento, ITALY (via Pompeii)
• 14^th April                                              Amalfi, ITALY
• 15^th April                                               Verona, ITALY (via east coast route)
• 16^th April                                              Geneva, SWISSE
• 17^th April                                               Interlaken, SWISSE (train to Jungfraujoch)
• 18^th April                                              Jungfraujoch, SWISSE
• 19^th April                                              Zermatt, SWISSE
• 20^th April                                              Zermatt, SWISSE
• 21^st April                                               Munich, GERMANY
• 22nd April                                            Freiburg, GERMANY
• 23^rd April                                              Freiburg, GERMANY (explore Black Forest)
• 24^th April                                              Berlin, GERMANY
• 25^th April                                              Berlin, GERMANY
• 26^th April                                              Berlin, GERMANY
• 27^th April                                              Dusseldorf, GERMANY
• 28^th April                                              Apeldoorn, HOLLAND
• 29^th April                                              Utrecht, HOLLAND
• 30^th April                                             Amsterdam, HOLLAND
• 1^st May                                                   Amsterdam, HOLLAND
• 2^nd May                                                 Brussels, BELGIUM
• 3^rd May                                                 Paris, FRANCE

Queing in a snaking line of eager pre-Christmas travellers escaping the Paris winter for tropical shores. Me for Hanoi. Them for Club Med. Stuck between a massive group of TOURists, I took my seat on board while they began a ripple effect of taking seats assigned to others in their group. The noisy chaos was quelled by the captains’ announcement that someone had lost a duty free bag, a blue plastic bag which happened to contain that persons’ passport. The captain reminded us that if that bag and passport was not found, ‘you can understand, ladies and gentleman, that this is not a happy day for Monsieur Perdu’.

And so it was with the culture shock of transition that I stumbled jet-lagged from French rural life into the oceans of Hanoi’s motorbikes. It was there that I soon developed that art of Traffic Aikido. . .Overwelmed I escaped to the soothing comfort of a boat trip around Halong Bay. . .Then onto the relaxed charm of Hoi An eating dinner along the river, indulging in french pasteries and being tailored all over town. . .To Nha Trang for Xmas – frolicking on nearby islands and splurging at the mud and thermal baths. . .To HCMC for markets, cocktails on the roof terrace overlooking the city, fabulous vegetarian cuisine, hanging out in the central park and watching how the communists exercise. . .A 3 day trip of the Mekong Delta mostly by boat (highly recommended) we weaved through floating markets and villages, and along the Mekong we had dinner against the backdrop of a lavender sunset as we drifted towards Cambodia.

Having a wonderful time en Corse. In the mornings, making jam and chutneys, gardening, painting. In the afternoons taking a drive through the hills with the other wwoofer in an unregistered 1975 2-cylinder jeep. We have climbed waterfalls, hiked to sacred sites, and yesterday went swimming at Porto Pollo a quiet fishing village encircled by rugged, grey, sky-scratching mountains.

On the way home we were flagged down by the Gendarmerie (National Police), and fumbled through the cars’ papers knowing full well a certificate of registration did not exist. One gendarm asked our nationalities – Irish and Australian. At the word “Australienne” he let out a huge belly laugh and a heavily-accented English “Shit!” I thought we were really in trouble now. But the tubby, red-faced officer began talking animatedly about crocodiles, Peter Garrett’s political career, and Michael Hutchence’s suicide. After he exhausted his knowledged of Australia he farwelled us with a curt “Allez-y” (Go there!) and we were made to drive away with a collective sigh of huge relief.