travel light

After so many years of backpacking and budget travel I should know better, but it's the mantra that try as I might, I've never really been able to follow.

TRAVEL LIGHT.

I started out with good intentions. Before I left home, my new, ultralight, pink-with-hibiscus-flowers suitcase was only half-full. I spent an entire evening weeding out half of what I planned to take. Even with gifts for oveseas friends, I was well under the weight allowance, plus one small carry-on backpack for the plane.

Once I arrived, it all went awry. Travel Light is not something you worry about on a road-trip in a roomy Toyota. So many irresistible markets, so many delightful vineyards!

On our arrival back in Munich, 4634 km and 6 countries later, it took 3 trips to unload all our stuff out of the car.

Yikes.

The next morning, after an hour of carefully packing and deciding what to leave behind ("Kat, do you think you'll want these 3 jars of plum jam? How about 7 bottles of Cotes de Bergerac?"), I was still over the weight allowance for my flight to London.

Take 2.5 kg out, or pay 15 Euros.

Well, I didn't have 15 Euros left, so in the middle of the airport, I popped open the big pink suitcase and started pulling out wine bottles, battery chargers, camera gear. After some rearrangement and sitting on the suitcase to close it, and thanks to the Munich airport allowing wine in carry-on bags, I managed to shave off 2.1 kg and get my bag checked.

I estimate I'm dragging around close to 70 pounds of stuff. Manouevering through the London Underground at rush hour with a 30 pound backpack and gigantic rolling suitcase is a travel experience I never want to repeat - although I'll have to tomorrow morning, as I'll be lugging it all again from Christa and Craig's place in Wandsworth Common to Gatwick Airport.

I don't think I'll be doing any shopping in London. And the next trip, I really will be a minimalist.

Then again, there's always the option of posting parcels home...

me amo la vida italiana

3 days in Italy

11 cappuccinos
5 latte macchiatos
4 espressos
8 gelatos
3 tiramisus
6 ciao bellas
6 sweet Italian pastries
3 pizzas
7 pastas
1 salad

all accompanied by generous amounts of Amarone and Valpolicella.

hiking mont de la sainte victoire

After 21 days of baguettes and brie, vin et foie gras, and everything else wonderfully French, I felt it was time to get out and move around.

Mont Sainte Victoire, the mountain backdrop to Aix en Provence, was a favourite subject of Cezanne.

We pass along the moutain on our way into Aix on Provence every day, and have a stunning view of it from the house we're staying in. Way up high on the western peak is a cross you can just see from down below.

I decided to hike it.

I carefully copied the driving directions to the trailhead from Via Michelin (the one-lane French highways don't appear on any of the maps I bought) and managed, after a couple of wrong turns and stopping to ask at the village cafe, to find the tiny parking spot.

I wasn't sure what to expect; Frits had told us the hike up was over 2 hours, and it's been nearly a month since I did anything more strenuous than stroll through medieval villages.

After passing several "Reserve de Chasse" signs on the way to the trail, and seeing a notice that Friday is wild-boar-hunting-day in the vicinity of Mt Ste Victoire, I figured I'd better stick to the trails.

I didn't have a map, but the trail was simple enough; follow the red and white signs, which indicate the French "Grand Randonee" hiking trails. There are thousands of kilometres of hiking trails in France, all carefully marked and mapped; I didn't have any sort of map so was really hoping those red and white markers were accurate.

I set off with my lunch - baguettes, cheese, salami, apples and (of course) cookies, and a litre of water, half-running the first section in my excitement to be out on the trail.

I slowed down considerably as the trail turned upwards. The first part was a lung-busting 45 minute climb through fragrant, scrubby pine forest - a bit like the Grouse Grind, only hotter; in early October, it was still nearly 25 degrees.

All that fabulous food was weighing pretty heavily as I pushed myself forward.

Just as I was questioning why exactly I thought I should hike after 3 weeks of lazing around, the trail came out into the open, criss-crossing the rocky mountain. I could see the summit.

45 minutes later I was at the prieure, a 17th century church and refuge. Another 10 minutes of scrambling brought me to the summit - the cross on the top of Mont de la Sainte Victoire.

The summit, with stunning views in all directions, was more than worth the climb. I settled in with my lunch, perched on the side of the cross, looking west to Aix and watching paragliders swoop and float past the mountain.

It was the best way to spend my last afternoon in Provence.

The knee-shattering climb down took nearly an hour. It was after 6 by the time I got back to the house, and dinner was waiting; Craig and Christa prepared a Provencal dinner for my last night. Frits joined us as we ate al fresco, with candles and a few bottles of local wine.

It was a perfect last day in France. Tomorrow morning, 6 a.m. I'm off to Italy, to meet Kat; we're spending a few days near Verona before heading back to Munich.

I can't wait to have my first Italian latte.

saison de la chasse en provence

October is hunting season in France.

Frits, the owner of our Provence country house, informed us of this the other morning. One of the neighbours had been hit by a pellet a few days before we arrived, which is apparently not a particularly rare occurrence; the house is in the middle of vineyards and fields full of rabbits and pheasants.

We weren't too concerned, as we were just on our way to Aix en Provence - our morning ritual since we arrived in Provence. Every day we choose a different sidewalk cafe on Cours Mirabeau, the tree-lined grande avenue, for cafe au lait, croissants, baguettes and jam, before spending the day lazily wandering and exploring.

I thought I should check with Frits, though, when I took one of the bikes out for a ride through the vineyards.

Do I need to worry? I asked him.

No, he said; you should be fine. Just try not to act like a rabbit.

I decided to wear my brightest pink shirt and, for good measure, borrowed Christa's red hoodie as well. I set out with my camera, noticing for the first time the little red "Reserve de Chasse" placards nailed to trees - which, if you speak french, let you know you are now in Hunting Territory.

Of course I completely forgot the precaution to stay on marked paths, and went off into the vineyards, crouching between rows to take the perfect shot of perfectly lit grapes. Standing up, I heard a pop-pop-pop in the distance and decided it might be a good idea to get back on the bike.

how to shower in a sink, french style

Les Calanques is national park in Southern France, a stretch of rocky white cliffs dotted with sparse, scrubby pine along the Cote D'Azur from Marseilles to Cassis. The Calanques are crossed with hiking trails, and in spots you can scamble down the steep scree to jump off rocks and ledges into the clear blue Mediterranean.

Kat and I stayed at an eco-friendly youth hostel in the national park, a 60 year old villa with incredible ocean views, electricity from solar panels, and water from rainbarrels.

Needless to say, this was not a place with hot showers, but it was so beautiful we stayed for 2 days.

The women's washroom had one long, communal stone washbasin, with three cold water taps with room for 10 people to line up and brush their teeth. After a day in the hot sun and swimming in the salty ocean, I was more than ready for a good wash-up.

I wrapped myself in my sarong, soaked my washcloth with cold water, and was doing my best to rinse off the salt when an older French woman came in, laughed at my sarong, and said, in Europe you don’t need to worry about that. We’re all the same here! You just wash, nobody minds seeing.

She told me how to climb up into the washbasin and use a jug of hot water from the kitchen as a make-shift shower.

The cold wash cloth wasn’t working that well, so I decided to brave it. I grabbed the hot water jug, dropped the sarong, and stepped up into the basin, trying ignore how self-conscious I felt as I poured hot water over my head and soaped up.

Despite my misgivings, nobody looked at me funny or asked why I was standing in a sink with no clothes on. Just as I finished up, three more women climbed up into the
washbasin with their jugs of water, laughing and chatting. In the end, I thought, a hot shower feels damn good, no matter what the logistics.

I blame the wine

Well, my good intentions of keeping a blog of my France adventures have gone awry.

It’s not for lack of Internet access. After the first week of travelling with my friend Kat, from Munich through Switzerland to Provence and the Cote D’Azur, I’ve had generous access to a laptop, including free Internet (current connection 100 mbps) at both the houses we’ve rented.

I’ll blame it on the French wine, of which we’ve been drinking copious amounts. This country is a paradise of incredible wines – and that’s from someone who doesn’t really know anything about wine. It’s sold everywhere, and actually easier to find – and cheaper – than a bottle of water. Red, white, rose, champagne… it’s all fantastic.

I believe it may officially be a 5th food group in France.

The trunk of the car has become a rolling wine cellar as we try wines here and there and can’t resist buying them. I’ve lost track of the wines I’ve tried and liked, mostly because there hasn’t really been a wine I didn’t like.

Our week at the Dordogne villa was partially an 8 day wine-tasting. There were 14 of us in all; myself (and Kat, for one night), my London-based friend Christa and her husband Craig, who organized the trip, and an assortment of Canadians, Brits and Australians who I hadn’t met before last week.

We got to know each other quite well on our first night, as dinner had been arranged for everyone; several courses of local specialties (canard, foie gras, chevre) accompanied by much red wine. Over the course of the week, we all participated in preparing dinners, and everyone brought back different wines, cheeses and other treats to share with the group.

I’m now in Provence with just Christa and Craig, and the three of us have rented a house for a week and are continuing the dinner and wine tradition. We alternate between dinners out to try the local cuisine, and getting fresh vegetables and cheese and wine from the market, to prepare our own dinner, which we eat al fresco by the pool.

I’ve been spoiled by the sheer variety and availability of wine and great cuisine in France, both in the restaurants and markets, in the Dordogne and Provence. And I am really going to miss getting a great bottle of wine for 5 Euros!