Back to France Part One
It's been a while again since I blogged last. It's been hectic at times and we also (and again) had some computer trouble but now the machine is live and kicking and it's time to blow some wind in the blog-sails.
Where was I. Last time I promised to blog about our French trip. Now as I recollect, there are indeed a few of stories worth documenting, while the rest of our two-week trip is a blur.
A blur of a vacation. I think we kind of overestimated our capacity to drive around France AND enjoy our vacation SIMULTANEOUSLY. I don't know where to trace the flaw, I suppose we were just greedy for sights and less prudent about our options. Anyway, we drove from the Netherlands through Belgium to Central France where we stayed a few days, then drove on to the Pyrenees, and the last bit we spent at the Cote d'Azur. We made trips, mostly by car, almost every day, and I think in the end it added up to some 4 to 5 thousand km. It was my first time in France and I can say I've pretty much seen it all!
The Hotels
It was high season so we figured we might just as well book accommodation in advance. I had some French in college so I was in charge of phoning and making the arrangements. Nonetheless, I opted for what I thought a safer strategy: start in English and if necessary switch to French. The standard conversation went like this: Hello... Do you speak English? The person at the other end of the line would say: Oui, un peu. Okay, no English.
Now the strangest thing about making hotel reservations in France is not only that they refuse to speak any other language but French even if you sense they're capable, but also that they don't conform to the familiar concept of accepting your credit card details. You are either required to make a bank transfer in advance, or even encouraged to send them cash (CASH!) by regular mail. How peculiar, we thought, it's not like southern European postal systems have the reputation of being very reliable, but what can you do? I suppose these people get cheated by tourists all the time, so they take these precautions. Sad, we thought, but in retrospect I can only confirm the places were gorgeous and they were certainly worth the trouble. Anyone planning a trip to France I recommend you consult guidesdecharme.com, it's great.
McDonalds: Where Art Thou?
One great thing about France is the food. Every stereotype of French gourmet cuisine is absolutely true and if only for the food, I would go live there right away. But the budget. The budget can be a problem. You can't really eat foie gras every day, can you. And it's not like the French make it easy for you to sneak out every now and then and enjoy a low budget Big And Tasty. Their own consumption of fast food is minimal and it's generally very difficult to find a fast food place, especially outside the big cities.
But on our way from yet another wonderful trip to the French Pyrenees, we suddenly spotted a billboard on the way advertising a McDonalds! To be or not to be? We decided to go to the hotel first, freshen up a bit, and then return to this same spot and follow the signs from there. I was all excited about this unexpected development, reminding me of the times they opened the first McDonalds restaurant in Ostrava after the revolution and how we thought it so special to buy a hamburger. I remember Daniela always took the McChicken and we shared the fries. Great times. Anyway, about an hour later we returned to this spot and started our adventure.
The signs pointed in the direction of Montrejeau, a town near where we stayed. But as we approached this town, there was a new sign pointing in the direction of St Gaudens, another small town in the area but a little farther away. We decided to take the chance and went on following the indicated direction. I was getting a little worried as we went on driving and no new signs appeared. My initial enthusiasm was turning into dismay as we had to improvise at times and I made a rather uneasy joke that perhaps the next sign will point in the direction of Toulouse, one of the larger cities in the region and some hundred km from where we were.
Not that I possess any prophetic qualities, but the next sign indeed indicated Toulouse, at which point Louk remarked: I'm not driving to (*bad word*) Paris for a hamburger! And resolutely set out to turn the car and go back to where we came from. It took some effort to convince him that maybe we could drive just a little farther to see if perhaps we see the restaurant and then after five minutes or so we can always turn back. Somehow I succeeded to define the situation as an adventure and we continued toward Toulouse. No signs, we persevered.
Good news! We found the place in the end. And it wasn't even very surprising to find it right at the next motorway entry, where it proudly served the mediocre purpose of helping occasional drive-through's and us with another bunch of starved French locals some of whom indeed apologetically projected the silent message of we-just-didn't-have-the-time-to-look-for-a-better-alternative. The rest just merrily stuffed their bellies with McMana. For our part, we had a feast of a meal with salad and fresh fruit (McDonalds goes healthy!) and of course a wonderful Big Mac (Big Mac's a Big Mac but they call it Le Big Mac. == Yes, they do.) and lots and lots of fries with lots and lots of mayonaise (And you know what they put on French fries instead of ketchup? Mayonaise! They f... drown them in this sh..! == And so we did.)
When we were leaving I jokingly suggested I would take my huge cola back to our hotel, as a kind of a daring almost anarchist act, but finally decided against it. Who knows they may refuse to give us our room keys, after all, our hotel had its own four star restaurant and every morning the receptionist inquired whether we wished to make a reservation for the night. After all, this was already enough adventure for one day.