France

Basecamp shift down the Valley

Leaving La Palud with the favourite sandwich ingrediants procured we headed out of town to Point Sublime to watch climbers on the cliff face. Incredible that people actually challenge themselves to this extreme.

Our view down the Gorge overwhelmingly reminds us that gravity is against us and that hand rails are there for a reason. Sitting at a specially chosen venue on the side of the road (read - Camilla saw a gravel patch big enough for the car, 2metres square) we had a late breakfast of baguette, nutella, lavendar honey and without question a cup of tea. On this stretch of road it is impossible to not be blown away with the sight of huge mountains and green valleys. Amazing what a drop of rain and decent snow melts can do to the earth.

Setting up tent at a new destination has become very routine. Within 10 minutes a dry safe haven can be erected anywhere and sleeping gear laid out. By the time we had camp sorted we both had a funny feeling that the car was not being well utilised. Typically in Australia the average holiday drive would involve hours of dry straight road to mull through. Here we have moved down the valley bombarded with glorious views an entire 40 kilometres with photo stops.

Castellane - 30 April

Castellane is a small town with again (cut and paste) 'winding narrow streets, gorgeous squares, little fountains, and a chapel on a big rock'. If it is there you should climb it, that is the motto for all hardened and exhausted backpackers feeling lazy from the use of a car. Driving around the corner before the climb we set up a picnic in the river bed on dry rocks and commenced with smoked salmon (firtst time since Australia), cheese and avocado - Camilla's favourite. Our standoff with the sprinkles of rain lasted only a few minutes before we retreated to the campsite.

Had we listened to our feet and legs prior to climbing Le Roc, or taken a quick glance at the looming black (BLACK) clouds overhead we may have opted for a second cup of tea before departure. Following the map in our Verdon Gorge walking book it was exclaimed that an essential element of this adventure was to diligently follow the itinerary. Within minutes Steve had us following other tourists up the short cut. The lesson learnt here was that communicating any variations to Camilla is far more important than the shortcut.

On arrival at the top, and realisation that we missed walking through the historic centre of town, we found ourselves tired and needing to rest. At that precise moment the black clouds let out a bellowing clap of thunder that rolled through the valley and around the peaks promptly followed by our good friend, rain. The slippery descent did not encourage us to detour off the shortcut back even though the 9th century ruins in the fields were only metres away. Safely at the bottom we walked past a very welcoming French pizzaria which lured us back for dinner.

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The Verdon Gorge - 29 April

Reluctantly we left Moustiers in the 'Beast' aptly named given that our car is a two door, 1.3 litre Toyota Echo with the power and carrying capacity only marginally greater than a 5 year old donkey.

The Verdon Gorge spills its crystal clear aquamarine river out into the vast Lake Saint Croix. At the portal of the gorge two huge cliffs each well over 500 metres beacon you to explore within like doors on a patisserie. Tired of walking, and reading maps, we opted for a yellow submarine shaped like a two person kayak.

Paddlying below the bridge and past numerous tourist spectators we entered (with the hoards of other frontier explorers). Collossal is not a big enough word to describe the overhanging cliffs up to 700 metres high as we paddle below in the equivalent of a couple of hundred plastic bags melted together.

Other tourist 'explorers' chose various flotation devices including the traditional canoe, foot powered paddle catermarans (with or without waterslide and sun bed) and even electric speedboats (1 or possibly 2 knots at a stretch). It was not long until we reached the cascades not far past the most obvious example we have seen of continental upheaval. The limestone and marble rock was layered at almost 45 degrees giving a true feeling of earths power.

As it became shallower we saw the river stones glide below. Coming in and out of the sunlight we rounded a corner to be faced with a series of massive tumbling and turbulent rapids gushing through the bolders. The previous description is scare the mums talk for easily managable ripples in the water. Our final obstacle seperated team Hall in opinion as Steve gushed with enthusiam regarding our ability to conquer the final upstream rapid. Camilla waited patiently and boatless, giggling quietly into the video camera as Steve failed to even make a stab at the trickle through the rocks.

A lovely afternoon was spent exploring the banks at this narrow neck of the gorge. Lunch was polished off rapidly (punn intended) before our down stream float back to the lake. Some areas of the river are like sitting on a big fish tank with huge trout swimming below. We were thankful that our day commenced and concluded when it did as we saw other paddlers struggling with the wind and current working with us through the gorge.

Our resting point for tonight was a leisurely 30 minute drive to cover around 10 kilometres of the most hairraisingly winding and beautiful roads glued to the side of the gorge. Looking down at the water from the heights gave us a further appreciation of where we were only moments before and how fantastic it is to find places only a few thousand tourists known about.

La Palud sur Verdon is one of those gorgeous yet forgettable country towns in the south of France overrun by walkers, climbers, hikers, campers, cavers, cayoners, cyclists and two little Aussies. Our campsight was originally bypassed without compromise by a now exhausted Steve (guess who did a few strokes of paddling more) only to be returned to once the voice of reason (a.k.a The Wife) made the observation that there is probably a reason why it is busy. Low and behold our tent looked out over the valley for 30 kilometres towards 1,700 metre high mountain framing the town as night fell. A hot shower didn't go astray either.

Travel Drama - the first real setback overcome

Hong Kong, Paris, Rome, London, Le Puy en Velay... - are destinations already on the itenarary. The Verdon Gorge however is one of those special places which in hindsight could not be missed.

To get from Marseille to the closest town to the Grand Canyon de Verdon we caught a bus to Aix en Provence where, while waiting on the platform, we informed the parents by SMS of our intentions to go out of range. Moments later and we received a phone call from Mike (Steve's Dad) gleefully informing us whilst panting heavily that he had just reached the top of a long steep section of the Great Wall of China!

Having already gone off the beaten track previously with our friend Loustic the Donkey we were full of confidence if not a little cocky. Arriving in Manosque??? we chased down the bus station for a conection to Moustiers Saint Marie (with no real idea what was even there). The very helpful bus attendant was incredibly disorganised and even after changing her mind a dozen times regarding the practicality of our request finally confirmed it was possible to leave this afternoon. Repeating back her English confirmation in French seemed to be the logical safeguard to be satisfied she was giving us the right information. With 7 hours to ourselves before the bus it was time to explore Manosque (read - find pastries and internet).

Having caught up with our blog, photo and video compilations and full of good food we arrived promptly half an hour early at the bus station. By 10 minutes past the confirmed time of departure Steve ventured in to enquire after the reason for delay. A more astute attendant gave an almost indignant 'you have to be kidding you crazy tourist, there is no hope on earth of getting there via bus today'. Please excuse the slight paraphrasing but the simple 'no, it is school holidays - there are no buses for 5 days' sounded the same to us.

Deliberation ensued, moreso it could be observed by any outsider that we were entirely dumbfounded with our situation and therefore resorted to pulling faces at passing traffic. Finally a solution, spend more money!

Only metres away a beacon of hope 'EUROPCAR'. 'Bonjour, Je voudrais une petit voiture maintenant' (Hello, I would like a small car now). A small after hours penalty, signing off of a 900 euro waiver and the upgrade for Loustic the Donkey was secured. Now for finding the correct door to get in and drive...

Like hesitant baby steps we got to our feet on the wrong side of the road and ended up completely lost in the small, small town of Manosque. By the way, Manosque should you choose to visit is actually lovely with a walled city section, lovely courtyards and pear slushy worth every centime.

Chanting 'right, right, right, right' Camilla kept us on the correct side of the road all the way to Moustiers, a measly 30 kilometres. What a sight to drive in late afternoon with the sun going down in the rear view as we drove through purple lavendar and yellow canola fields. Winding around the cliffside we passed numerous country stone houses before approaching the 700 metre high cliffs of the Verdon range. Perched precariously between two mountains in a narrow ravine was Moustiers. Score!

Campsight living is great, pay 10 euros for the best view of town. The only shortfall today really was that halfway through our showers the lights got turned off. Lucky we know where everything is.

Moustiers Saint Marie - 28 April

Waking early at the sight of a dark cliff face silhouetted by the sun rising behind we shivered in the morning mist with muesli in hand and fallen pollen covering the ground. Our plan for today seemed simple, enjoy all that this section of the Verdon National Park has to offer with a short 12 km hike through the hills and ravines surrounding Moutiers.

We thought we were off to a good start, topographical maps in hand, compass, sufficient water for a couple of days, snacks and determination. Having found the yellow way markers indicated on the map and in the dialogue we set forth on the climb through olive groves at the commencement of this round trip hike. WIthin 4 kilometres we realised that the map was not matching the waymarkers as expected. We pushed on feeling that if the markers continue then we are on a known route and can retrace our steps if required. Well, that was required!

We were beaten to the peak of Le Castillon at 988 metres only by a glider being towed by a tug high above our heads then soaring off through the valley. Confident we were on the right peak it was definitely time to put the map reading skills to the test and find the return route back to base. With all the diligence and determination in the world it was left undiscovered. The sheer frustration, and admittedly the element of concern we decided to retrace our steps. The only casualties on the trip were our egos and a compass deemed totally unrealiable.

It wasn't until the clarity afforded by a hot cup of tea that we relooked at the cursed map to find that our mistake was within feet of our departure point. Whilst following the route diligently, it became apparent that our way had only covered the return path. In retrospect it was probably the more picturesque of the two ways as it passed close to town. The feeling of being lost even though our destination was reached has taught us a valuable lesson which relates directly with life goals. Sometimes it is not just about being successful at reaching the goal but knowing how you got there, when is a safe time to bail, calculating the risks, admitting mistakes, feeling safe and confident and always know your way home.

A early evening walk through town as the lights were coming on et our spirits soaring once more. Moustiers is nestled between the gap in two huge mountains and split by cascading waterfalls. Tucked within the rock is a slippery stone staircase leading almost 80 metres above the town to a dark chappel built on the ruins of an ancient equivalent. Viewing the narrow winding streets from such a height makes you wonder how they built such an intricate laborynth.

Marseille - 25 April

Just over one hour from Avignon on train and we arrived at Marseille train station. The train trip was on a TGV express line, unfortunately we had an old rattler of a carriage, but the track was so smooth the only indication we were carreering at 130 kms/h was a slight woft of the window curtains. Looking outside gave the speed away also as the blurred countryside flashed past.

From the grand staircase of the train station overlooking this incredible port city we descended to our hotel. Swinging a cat may have been fun in the small room but with not room to do so this pasttime will be left till later. Through the back streets around our hotel right next door to the theatre there are restaurants with specialities such as Senegalese, Morrocan and Tunisian.

Down to the water was exactly how we pictured it however Steve had the impression it was smaller. Bigger in real life is often better with the thousands of yacht masts filtering the view out towards the fort on either side of the harbour entrance. Eeniee, meenie, miney moe, we turned right and strolled out to the northern headland for a pack lunch. Tuna fish flying everywhere and there was still enough for Camilla's pants and sandwich.

Steve put a thumb in the Mediterrean for the first time and exclaimed that it was definetely swimming temperature. How decieving enthusiam can be when we found out later that it was barely 19 degrees. Needing a mission under the full pretence that we refuse to walk any further we boarded the tacky (ok, fine - efficient, clean and reliable) tourist train for a easy climb up the hill to Notre Dame de Garde.

Commentary over the speakers of each carraige were translated (we use that term loosely) into English by what sounded like an out of work cockney British actor that spent his childhood in South Africa, schooled in New Zealand and took holidays in Texas. Go on, give that a go.

The towers of Notre Dame de Garde are made up of alternating black and white marble which contrasts dramatically against the blue skys and rocky mountains. An imposing sight from below it is the greatest vantage point to absorb the sprawling Marseille. Steve gave up counting boats pretty quickly while Camilla explored the crypt.

A snack was in order by the time we had dealt with our commentator on the trip down so we wondered off into the south bank back streets to find the equivalent of a boost juice. With luck we found the only one in Marseille according to the very friendly owner (could be a market in that?)

The final vantage point of the day was found alongside the Palace overlooking the eastern harbour fort with a view over the busy parade of boats returning for the day. On the way home we went into the cluttered yet fascinating model boat and maritime bits and pieces shop. A little like Whitworths only the range included expensive mediterrean taste and too many options for a boat fitout.

Finding that we were short on supplies our final conquest for the day was to survive the local food market in the square at closing time. A flustered Steve emerged with an assortment of bananas, tomatos, zuchini, carrots and strawberries spending just short of 2 euros. Ahh the excitement of self catering, our produce produced the first fried rice extravaganza which would be repeated twice more until the stocks were depleated.

A full day in Marseille - 26 April

Marseille is known for its variety of fresh seafood delivered to the banks of the harbour as it has been for hundreds of years by fishing families known in the area. Totally unlike the Sydney fish market with the multimillion dollar trawlers, dozens of colourful 20 foot long wooden boats arrive to sell their catch. Setting up little blue tables with haste the men unload the fish while women help sort the catch, much of which is still flapping or trying to make an escape (cheeky octopus).

All this excitement before breakfast, we made poached eggs on the window sill then packed for the day. Determined to see some sights we went eagerly to the Palace Longchamps via the historic quarter and short detour to the train station for a ticket out. At Longchamps were arrived in front of an enormous fountain (3 stories tall) with raging bulls and all that jazz which celebrates Marseilles royals securing a reliable water supply during a long drought. The gardens behind the palace inspired us to do nothing more than sit in the grass and watch children playing (did we mention cook up more fried rice, yum).

Full of beans we strode entirely across town through the northern streets of port to the largest cathedral in Marseille. We hope to be forgiven for not commenting on the name but unfortunately we are a bit overwhelmed with the number of churches etc. It was big none the less and impressive in its own right, unfortunately it did not look particularly well used a little soulless (pardon the expression). There were only one or two other people visiting at the time and yet the structure, architecture and art is a contemporary of any other religious building we have seen so far.

Fully equiped mobile 'Cafe Hall' set up shop on the side of the harbour entrance next to the travelling circus tent to deliver hot cups of goodness to its only patrons. Revived, it was now time for the exciting first sea leg of the European experience. The ferry in Marseille helps shoppers, elderly, commuters and boat mad tourists to cross from one side of the harbour all the way to the other (approximately 100 metres).

As seen on a documentary we can't remeber the name of by an grumpy English chef we thought was painful to watch it was advised that when in Marseille it is mandatory to eat Boulabaisse. Every second restaurant sells this sordid affair originally cooked by the youngest child in the fishing families as a way of using the unsold fish. The name boulabaisse translates to 'before it boils', the instructions given to the child before being left to turn down the heat to simmer. For those intellects that have already guessed that a culinary delight which was cooked by children of sometimes impoverished fishing families may not be gourmet you beat us too it. Thankfully we had aparatifs at a devine little bar before venturing onto dinner.

A quick explanation excluded from conversation with Camilla before Steve ordered the dish, the whole fish, let us be specific, the ENTIRE fish was used and they are usually small and red from the bottom of the Med. Boulabaisse is now considered a culinary masterpiece by some chefs, Steve however suffered nightmares about choking on small fish bones whilst drowning in fish guts. Maybe the 50 euro version would have offered something better than the 15 euro version but the soup part comes out of the same pot, need we elaborate further.

All in all, Marseille is well worth visiting. The view from the top is excellent, even good enough to justify walking up. A history of fishing families, boats galore and historic maritime forts are all great to see in the flesh. Boulabaisse...

3 Days Camping next to Pont d'Avignon on the Rhone

Finding a campsite in European cities is becoming increasingly easy. As we walked past all the little hotels in Avignon where the windows look out onto brick walls (the hotels we could afford anyway) it was a pleasant surprise to find our campground adjacent to the slow flowing Rhone.

In the evening of our first day, 22 April, we sat on the banks, gasless and therefore tealess, with a nice bottle of French 'Le Chat' cabinet savignon 2003, a huge block of cheese, foot long chorizo sausage and of course a baguette. The sun went down warming our backs and lighting up the Palais des Papes (only Palace of the Popes ever to exist outside of Rome) whilst trying to remeber the tune to the famous song 'Pont d'Avignon' which was directly opposite.

As we have arrived in the Cote d'Azur it seemed fitting to watch a relevant and up to date documentary covering travel in this part of France. It was clear that French was not required to understand the do's and don'ts of travelling abroad as we learnt from Mr Bean himself not to leave passports on trainstations, arrive early for a TGV and hitchhiking is slow going.

Day 1 - 23 April

We spent today in the Internet Cafe with a short run to the mountain equipment store for gas and kebab shop for sustainance. Gas = tea and hot dinner. The End.

Day 2 - 24 April

Slightly more elaborate than yesterday, woke to a fresh baguette in our tent and heinze baked beans, bliss.

Took a very lazy stroll up the gardens overlooking the famous bridge and island we were staying on. We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the narrow streets surrounding the Palais des Papes. A bout of homesickness snuck in under the radar today so we came to the conclusion in was time for icecream and a lazy afternoon.

Hot dinners cooked by us are a great way to feel independant from so many tourist attractions, expenses etc. With the tent up, packs together inside, a warm clean place to sleep and cooker (tea bags) at the ready it is like a small Australian Embassy, heinze beans and a small Australian flag on the tent to boot.

Our next step decided at the train station that afternoon, destination sunny Marseille.