Debbie and Paul with their children, Jonathan and Andrew, arrive on Tuesday, July 18th, on different planes (and services, i.e. business vs economy!!) and are rushed by Chaos Tours' experienced operators to their base in Kassel. A bit of biking and sightseeing (Schloss Wilhelmshöhe, Herkules Monument) follow and on Thursday, July 20th, 5 kids, 4 adults, 3 bikes, 2 cars and one dog set out around 10 o'clock for La France.
Temperatures are well in the thirties as we roll past Frankfurt towards Kaiserslautern and Saarbrücken. The Audi with its three bicycles on top and 4 passangers has trouble pushing past 130 km per hour on flat stretches and needs fouth and even third gear up the autobahn hills. Sandwiches are consumed at a rest stop in Germany, more drinks are picked up in a gas station before crossing into France around 3 o'clock where cruising at the required speed (130) and with little traffic would be quite relaxing were it not for the hot weather.
Thus everybody is quite exhausted as we pass all the champagne houses in Epernay, our first stop in France. The Ibis Hotel, which we had reserved a month ago, turns out to be in the centre of town near a pedestrian zone. We unload our luggage (always quite an operation with about 10 bags, 5 kids eager to see their rooms, dog wanting to wander around, bicycles to be taken off the roof rack and securely locked away, ...). Finally, we manage to divide the hoards up into 4 rooms, put the cars into the downstairs parking and wonder how the French can charge such a high price for such small, although clean and modern rooms.
The first of many Kronenbourgs to follow is consumed on the grande place in front of the hotel with Baxter taking a swim in the fountain (one of many to follow). The guide is consulted, people in grocery stores are asked for their favourite restaurant and we all end up in Au Petit Comptoir close to the cathedral.
The restaurant turns out to be very pleasant, children get a special meal, the menu with salmon as main dish is reasonable, the dog has a good sleep on the cold stone floor and everybody feels better but it only lasts until we return to our cubicles which are still unbearingly hot. Even though the windows are kept open - which allows us to closely follow the conversation of English tourists returning slightly drunk to their hotel at 3 in the morning - there is no chance to get the hot air out of the rooms.
In addition, Baxter gets restless at 4 in the morning which gives Lutz a chance to tour the dark city after having carried Baxter down the circular steps which he refused to negotiate himself - the joys of travelling with a dog!
Breakfast is either taken in the Ibis or in the plaza in front of it, as the individual tastes go. Cars are brought up and parked in front of the hotel, bags, children, Baxter are moved down, eyes are kept on cameras and hand bags, bikes mounted on the roof, empty drink bottles and cans are discarded and everybody's shirt is wet even before the first kilometer has been driven.
Chaos Tours decides to visit the champagne maker Mercier whose tour includes a ride with a little train through the 18 kms of cool cellars driven into the chalk underneath Epernay. Lutz, Sharon, Marlies and David take the German speaking tour, Debbie, Paul, Jonathan and Andrew follow the French speaking one. The tour is interesting, starting with a film & light show, impressive as the train moves past part of the 17 million bottles stored in the cellar, but we did not see any of the about 20 men doing the bottle "shaking" for the method champagnoise.
Around noon the road has us again and we follow the A4 for the dreaded circumnavigation of Paris, called La Francilienne. Thanks to Paul's good map and road sign reading we make it without detour (everyone in their nightmares saw us circling the Arc de Triomphe three times) and proceed to Chartres for a visit of the cathedral.
Parked close to a park ten minutes away from the cathedral, we visit the church with its beautiful tinted glass windows and Debbie and Paul even manage to find their much praised English speaking guide but it turns out to be too hot for us and especially the kids to follow the lengthy explanations of the architecture. Thus, after a pizza meal on the park benches, always with an eye on the cars and bikes, we proceed towards our next night's stop, Amboise, in the Loire Valley, not without having encountered the unfriendliest gas station operator in France who was guarding his toilet and ice box as if they were the crown jewels (and yes, Paul, he did not take American Express either nor did most other hot dog stands in France).
Also, taking a wrong turn, we do not proceed directly to the A10 but rather follow the N10 and another local road down to Blois. This way we even save a few kilometers but driving on the open road is slow and usually boring. It also proves the fact that France is huge and much less densly populated than Germany. Seeing all the wheat and corn fields also makes it understandable why France has such an influence on the agricultural policy of the EC.
We arrive at the pre-booked Novotel in Amboise at around 6 and the usual unloading procedure unravels. The Novotel has air-conditioning as shown in the guide - but only in the lobby! Rats, another stiffling hot night, this time with people taking a poolside chat after midnight. I feel like borrowing David's voice controlled water gun and - with a scream "get these bastards" - put an end to this. Everybody feels exhausted, a roadside thermometer had read 38 degrees in the shade - at 5 pm! Later we are to hear that 42 degrees were measured in San Sebastian in Spain and that it was the hottest weekend in 14 years.
That evening we had a dinner in the Auberge de Launay in Limeray about 15 minutes outside of Amboise, which, by the way, also has nice hotel rooms, and where Paul was smart enough to make dinner reservations for us. To be honest, I cannot remember wines or menus, it was simply too hot to enjoy a fine meal and I seem to recall that it was fine. I also have no bill left from it and couldn't find it in the guide. The kids, by the way, ate in the Novotel which apparently was bad and expensive.
Next morning it rained as we loaded the car, so shirts became wet again to keep with our usual procedure. Cultural stop on this Saturday was Chateau Chenonceau, which Debbie and Paul had picked among the many choices in the Loire Valley and it was a very wise choice indeed. All was very much worth seeing: the beautiful gardens,the grandiose location overspanning the river, the lovely chambers and the large gallery which served as a hospital for thousands of injured in WW I and as a secret bridge between occupied France and "Free France" in WW II.
Moving with the masses through the castle, one must also wonder how long these cultural marvels can sustain tourism. Although there are some acrylic shades in front of tapestries, the unprotected floors and some of the corners and doors must take enormous damage from the hundred thousands of feet and hands touching them, not to mention the humidity all these people carry in. Neuschwanstein in Bavaria is visited by 2 million people per year, it cannot be much less with this pristine castle.
Paul buys a local white, later to be consumed in Lalinde, otherwise we stock up on local bread, cheese and cold meats and head further south as the day heats up again. We follow the A10 to Poitiers and from there the N10 to Angoulâme, then on to Perigeux and Bergerac, not without having stopped in Brantôme for a short sight-seeing and ice cream buying.
As always, we are running behind schedule (having promised to arrive at our house in Lalinde on the Dordogne by 5 pm) but at 7 we reach Lalinde and follow the little road along the river, past the camping grounds, to the 17th century house which we booked to be our home for the next fortnight. Expectations are high, as are our worries: how is it going to be, a great place for a holiday dans la campagne, or a hole in the wall?
As we open the gate after about 1600 to 1700 kms driving through a furnace, we are much relieved. The house looks beautiful, the bushes and grass area is professionally trimmed, roses are in full bloom, two hectares of land with grass, lines of trees, etc. stretch behind the house.
We open the door and step in. Faces become a bit longer. Older type of furniture from the fifties or sixties greets us, lots of exotic african furniture (the owner had lived many years in Africa on the Ivory Coast, as we learn later). There are no linens for us, as we had ordered, only one set for one bet (we need 4 more!). Worst of all, there is a penetrating musky smell all through the house as if it hadn't been properly aired all winter. My greatest nightmare comes true, sleeping on a rotten bed without proper sheets in a smelly house - I opt for a night in the car and can just see myself loading the unpacked suitcase into the Audi next day for the run home.
Meanwhile we try to phone, the phone doesn't seem to work. We decide to drive into town, we must eat something anyway. More phoning takes place there, the key holder is out for dinner and will not be back before 11, the local agent has the answering machine going. We eat at what I think was the Hotel Périgord with little memory except that the usual ordering battle took place: "no they don't have children menus", "no you cannot order the plat du jour in the evening", "no the kids cannot have coke at night", "no they don't serve Oasis", "no I don't want chicken again", "no I don't know what lapin is" (make that rabbit!), "no I don't know how the white Bergeracs taste", "no I didn't realize the Dordogne was such an expensive part of France", "no Michi must order something now otherwise he spoils it for everyone once the meals come", "no I didn't see the American Express sign in the door", ...
Back to the house, the key keeper had been around but we weren't home yet. Everyone prepares for the night which was to become a very cold one (temperatures dropped that night by 20 degrees as we learned later). I cannot tell how the others slept, apparently Paul and Debbie had a charming sleep with Baxter showing his affection all night.
As for myself, I tested the Chrysler with benches taken out, stretched on a towel and with two bathing towels over me (one for approx. the top half of me, the other for the lower end, both too narrow to cover Dr. Wegner's extensive width). One or several mosquitos also decided to share the Chrysler with me and by the time I closed some windows because it became freezing cold, it was too late for keeping them out. I can testify to the fact that the sunrise in the Dordogne in late July is around 6 o'clock but that the sun is not really up and warming cars until about 7:30.
When Paul came out around 7 and discussed the legal aspects of our situation, me sitting with a towel over my underwear, slightly smelly with the shirt I had worn the day before, unshaven, without contact lenses, I had undoubtedly reached the climax of our holiday. Discussions continued with each other and of course the kids sensed everybody's unhappiness. The river in front didn't look very inviting either nor was the canal behind the house suitable for swimming and it became hot again.
The key holder, Mr. Jeanjaud appeared, showed that he had only orders for one set of sheets, excused himself for that, denied smelling any odours and disappeared again. Our decision not to stay became firmer and when the local agent appeared around twelve, Paul had already booked us into the hotel L'Abbaye in St-Cyprien which carried a rocking chair in the guide and had a pool!
This was all the better because the discussion with Mrs Rose Perion, English representative of the rental agent and of course the bottom element on the chain of command as she repeatedly let us know
We told her that we could be reached at L'Abbaye and moved out by about 2 pm with the usual loading and later unloading which left us in a total sweat.
The hotel L'Abbaye turned out to be a charming little place nestled on a hill right in the center of the little medieval town of St. Cyprien up about 30 kms from Lalinde. The lobby is tastefully furnished, the pool has a decent size, they serve beers and Camparis on the pool side and there is a locked parking lot where you park your convertible for the few days you spend here with your mistress, enjoying the good food and quiet surrounding.
Well, the kids also enjoyed the pool, Baxter could have a shower there and rest in the shade. The rooms were adequate, Marlies had her own and Jonathan and Michi could share one. There is a lovely terrace outside where we had twice dinner, once with and once without the kids. Meals were good, spirits up after our first Tavel Rosé but communicating with Mrs. Perion, Cellini in Italy, American Express in the States, France Tours Inc. in Toronto, was somewhat frustrating as all these conversations didn't get us closer to a house.
Mrs. Perion decided to hand things over to England and more or less refused to talk to us any longer. We therefore decided to put an end to all this nonsense and send a fax to Mrs Perion, Cellini in Italy and FT Inc. in Toronto, giving them till Tuesday, 11 am, to come up with an alternative. Meanwhile we spent Monday in the area, looking at the lovely castle of Beynac (Paul, Jonathan and Michi took their bikes), visited Sarlat and continued on to Domme, all in 35+ degrees weather.
In the evening we tried to save some money and went to a pizzeria but only the kids ate there and we remorsefully returned to L'Abbaye, its FF 200 menue touristique (1 FF = 0.29 DM, 1 CAN$ about 1 DM in July/August 1995) and yet another bottle of Tavel (among two other bottles and countless Badoit's). We also received a message from Mrs Perion that another house was available in the Northern part of the Perigord (Bouteilles Saint Sébastien, 50 km south of Angoulème) but that she was calling in a wood expert from Bordeaux to have a look at the house and if we wanted we could join her in the inspection next morning around eleven.
With sleeps on this holiday ranging from awful to non-existent, this night belonged to the non-existent. I saw myself arguing with a French wood expert in my beautiful French from school 20 years back. The evening before I had also decided to make sure we had some independent evidence of our own and had asked the very nice people at the hotel whether they could recommend a lawyer (advocate). They pointed out that an huissier de juistice (bailiff) was the right person to call in to make "un constat". Unfortunately, Maitre Larme (which translated means "The honorable Mr. Tear") from Lalinde wasn't available around eleven and a meeting at the house was arranged for 6 pm.
All this goes around in my head together with the effects of too much alcohol, a moaning and groaning dog and a hotel bill piling up at the rate of FF 1600 per night, meals not included.
Tuesday we send another fax telling Cellini that we are willing to move but notice with surprise that we are supposed to look at the house again. We drive to Lalinde around nine with Debbie remaining with the lovely task of looking after 5 children and a dog.
The visit at the house with Pierre Lestage, who happens to come from St. Cyprien as well, is uneventful. The garage reveals the typical horror cabinet of chemicals which is common with the French and hotter climate: spray first, ask later! The expert agrees, there is a "petite" smell. How petite? It will go away in 24 hours if the house is aired properly.
You wonder why Mrs Perion didn't do it who claims, without a blush of her face, to have slept a night in the house, of course without any effects! The expert also determines that it is not the beams or mold in the walls but rather a mixture of cleaning liquids used by the cleaning lady after the previous renters moved out after three weeks. Also, three cans of mosquito spray had been found in the house after we left and we are accused of having planted them, apart from illegally bringing in a dog and putting up a tent and waiting for additional 2 people to join us past the legitimate number of 9 renters. What amazing stories!
We shake hands with Mr. Lestage, who has a fine nose despite him smoking smelly Gauloise, and return to St. Cyprien to have a call to the italian rental company in the presence of our Pom Queen.
Paul talks, Rose Perion talks (in Italian so we don't understand), the smell is still described as petite, a vague offer is in the air of reimbursing us for the hotel expense and we agree to move back into the house on Wednesday. The remainder of Tuesday is spent trying out the money machines in Lalinde and tasting some wine in the local store. We buy a good champagne as a thank you for the hotel owners.
In the evening we try to eat in a crépérie in St. Cyprien, but not having reserved, there is no space. Chaos tours decides to take its guest on one of their favourite adventures: looking for a place to eat on the spur of the moment. The trip takes us through wild rugged territory (no places whatsoever) to as far as Sarlat (no parking spaces whatsoever). Pretty hungry (it is close to 9:30) we stop in a place in Beynac and sit down in the cafeteria on the river bank. "No, chicken is out", "no, pommes frites c'est fini", "no, sausages n'est plus..."
We move to the restaurant upstairs and suddenly things brighten up. Madame will throw some lamp chops on the grill, big mugs of beer appear for the thirsty adults and the meal arrives very soon after with generous helpings of pommes frites and fried potatoes. We thank her with an ample tip and return to L'Abbaye for our last night.
Wednesday we pack everything up, pay our bill (shluck!!, 50 FF for breakfast etc.) and move back to Lalinde with Mickey going the 30 odd kilometers on his bike. The house indeed smells less, although it takes days to get rid of the smell in the kitchen. In the afternoon we buy a wooden board for Paul to put into his bed.
Thursday is market day at Lalinde where we buy some gorgeous cheeses and look at FF 28.000 antique cupboards, aquiring instead a bottle of Bas-Armanac to drown the sorrow, and mail faxes to Italy requesting urgent refund of FF 7.000 for hotel accomodation and telephone bills from L'Abbaye.
The next days are spent cycling, making a trip to the big loop of the river at Trémolat, which also houses the very nice restaurant Vieux Logis (one star, rocking chair in red), walk through Limeuil, where Dordogne and Vezère meet, the boys go fishing in the river, play baseball in the field behind the house, build a fort from wood lying around, and we go horseback riding.
The girls come up with great meals in the evening (roasted potatoes, salads) and Paul is promoted to Chaos Tours' grill chef. We also visit Bergerac on its market day, again when the thermometer goes up into the mid-thirties and Sunday we make an excursion to Bannes which is a smaller castle owned by a family which offers tours to visitors. The trip continues to Cadouin with its monestary and covered market and temperatures are well into the thirties again.
Monday, Paul and I go on a tour of the Bordelaise (Médoc) for a day (see separate box). Tuesday we recover from that trip and Wednesday the girls head for Bordeaux and St. Emilion ending their day at - yes - the Vieux Logis in Trémolat (smart girls). Meanwhile we had dragged the kids out to a little lake close to Bayac for a swim.
We also enjoy a canoeing trip on the Dordogne from Le Buisson down 5 kms to Bac de Sors which evolves into a German-Canadian rowing contest (we tied) made especially charming with two screaming kids in my boat with me feverishly changing sides with the paddle trying to prevent the canoe from going in circles (reader beware: never go with a canoe and one adult only).
Thursday we teach the children what culture means and drag them across the stinking hot Dordogne to Rocamadour where we eat out near the château at a terrace restaurant and later visit the château. Some nice vertical drops of about 200 meters for those not faint at the heart.
Next we descend to the churches, either by cable car or by foot, see the black madonna and walk down another few hundred steps to arrive in the pedestrian zone which is a giant conglomeration of postcard, souvenir, and food shops in the best Rothenburg and Heidelberg style. We return after a swimming stop at Le Bousson and after picking up some pizza at Lémeuil.
The holiday is coming to a close, no word yet of our refund, we fax again and take off for Les Eyzies-de-Tayac, site of some of the world famous prehistorique cave paintings. The most beautiful ones are, of course, in Lascaux, but this cave is closed to the public now and one can only visit replicas in Lascaux II.
In Les Eyzies there is still an open cave, the Grotte de Font-de-Gaume for which Paul and Debbie were smart enough to have reserved places for all of us. At most 200 people per day are allowed inside to keep the wall paintings of mamoth, deer and horses preserved. The walk in almost total darkness through the small openings deep inside the mountain is impressive, the paintings are breath taking, more for their age (around 14.000 years) and the effort it must have taken those people back then to create these drawings than for their artistic beauty; the paintings are in one colour only and hard to see unless you point them out with a showing light.
Although the walk up to the cave was pretty hard and the drive to les Eyzies took some while on curvy roads, the day was considered one of the highlights of the holiday. In the evening we started to pack up and had another barbecue to be followed by a typical Dordogne storm with lightning, heavy rains and high winds. Chaos Tours likes to offer its guests a bit of fireworks on the last night.
Saturday everybody vacuums and cleans bathrooms like crazy to have the house in ship-shape for Mr. Jeanjeau to make his final visit. We even make him sign a form that we left the house in good order as we are afraid Mrs Perion would make up new stories about us (the latest being that I have allergies which is the source of all the trouble). We also pay him for the linens and around ten head off towards Lyon with Romanéche-Thorins as a final destination that evening.
The drive is uneventful, minor misunderstandings about who waits for whom nonwithstanding, hot, with little to see in the Puy-de-Dôme around Clermont-Ferrand. The autobahn around Lyon is less crowded than feared on a Saturday in August and we arrive at Les Maritonnes (one star) around six. Everybody takes a dip in the nice pool, Baxter is taken for a walk, we get ready for dinner: our second in this restaurant as we had stopped here with Debbie and Paul (sans enfants!) 16 years earlier, in 1979.
Our bill on the 7.6.79 came to 652 FF (including 4 meals at 465 total, a Beaunne Blanc at 65, a Morey St. Denis at 90 and a half Brouilly at 22). Considering our modest income then (not that we earn a decent salary now), we did not spend much more considering that prices must have doubled since then: 9 meals at FF 1935, a Macon at 100, a beautiful Beaujolais (Mayon) at 140 and a disappointing 1985 Nuits St. George for 230 FF (1985 is considered a great year in Burgundy!). The lamb that came with my menu was out of the world, everything else seemed less impressive.
The following night belongs again to the category "non-existent". As 16 years before, when we slept in another hotel close to the Paris-Lyon railroad tracks, an endless number of TGVs and freight trains seem to speed right between our beds, the heat and the alcohol and the late meal do their share in keeping me awake.
Saturday has us in the garden with the pétit déjeuner, quite in style with croissants and all which allowed for a slow start into the trip to the Alsace. Stops in various locations (Dole, Dijon, Besancon) are considered and given up for lack of energy. It is hot and muggy, we feel we shouldn't be too late with our guests who live in Dambach-La-Ville north of Sélestat in the Alsace.
So to contrast our 4 course meals from the night before, it is McDonalds for lunch in Mulhouse and we picked the one in the shadiest neighbourhood (actually almost directly in the centre of town). Dark figures stroll repeatedly by seemingly dividing up the contents of the cars after the tourists have their throats slashed. We lock the doors and stand guard and decide to we move out of this friendly place as fast as possible.
Later we hear from Ruhlmann-Dirringers, our hosts and wine suppliers for the last 16 years, that Mulhouse with the closed down car factories and many unemployed North-Africans is indeed one of the worst towns in France where Left and Conservatives had to join forces to keep out Le Pen's Ultra-right.
The welcome at Ruhlmann-Dirringers (Joseph, Francine, Remy, Annie, Bruno, Sophie) is very warm, we relax with a bit of the new 93 Riesling Med.d'Or and have an extensive tour of the house and cellars including the newly broken through part to the recently bought neighbouring house. Before dinner we move to our night quarters, Hotel Arnold in Itterwiller which has 4 very nice rooms for us.
With rain setting in, the garden party is quickly moved to the garage where ample food covers a huge table. We try an 89 Tokay from the 1.5 L magnum (very delicate), nice older Pinot Noir and a Gewürz with dessert. Bruno, who has to fly to Paris early next morning leaves us around 10:30 and we others call it quits not much later - a busy day takes its toll. Baxter, having played all evening with Schnautzer, the local watch dog, is also quite tired.
Monday morning the last loading up takes place, a modest breakfast follows and we return to R&D for picking up the parked bikes and our next year's supply of wine (including most generous gifts from R&D, everybody has to ride to Strassburg with feet up). Rain sets in again and we drive more or less directly into Strasbourg where we arrive at the train station one hour earlier than planned.
Chaos Tours kindly asks its passengers to check the overhead bins for personal belongings and wishes those continuing past the present destination a good journey. For us it is another 300 km of uneventful, slightly hectic, and - of course - hot driving back to Kassel where a loop of about 4.700 kms comes to a happy end around 5 pm.
Good fairy tales have a happy end; 4 days after our return I write to the Italian company to consider the situation again, explaining that Paul is visiting FT Inc. in Toronto the day before. Within half an hour after sending of my fax, Mrs Sacher from Cellini phones me first at home and then at my office (she actually is German) and tells me that the case had been settled the same morning in our favour and that FT Inc. has been advised to credit CAN$ 1000 to each of the two parties. Paul later confirms this with a fax from his hotel in Toronto.
The episode with the smelly house also coincides with what I have experienced with travels before; if you get stuck with a tour operator or lousy hotel or missed connection without own fault, wait a certain time and give them a chance to repair things, set a deadline and if things don't clear up, don't wait for further efforts - book on your own, enjoy your holiday, worry about reimbursment later. If you don't go overboard with your demands, travel agencies, airlines, etc. will normally settle the case to your satisfaction unless they have gone bankrupt in which case there was no reason to wait for service anyway.
Looking back at the days in the Dordogne, I think we made one, forgivable, mistake. We booked a house without a pool which saved us about 3.000 CAN$ on the rental fee (4.000 now against possibly 7.000). We thought the savings was worth it and had also hoped that either the river in front of the house or the canal in the back would be suitable for swimming or water activities in general. That turned out not to be the case (which the catalogue should have actually mentioned). Given the extraordinary heat in August in France some hundreds of kilometers away from the coast (which I had actually anticipated), we would have had much happier kids with a pool around.
The Dordogne is a touristy area. Driving through the hills one can see many beautifully restored house, typically in the bright yellow sandstone style with steep roofs and a little spike on the roof-rist, many owned by the English and Dutch. In fact, we found our house for sale in in a window of a real estate agent in Trémolat for 1.600.000 FF (about 500.000 CAN$), other nice houses a bit off the main track sell for less than 300.000 CAN$ (DM).
We also think that the Dordogne is not cheap, possibly all of France despite the low French Franc. In a way we were lucky being located in Lalinde and St.Cyprien which - here Mrs Perion didn't lie - constitutes the Champs Elysees of the Dordogne and Lot.
It was also good that Debbie and Paul had the determination to see things. I guess, when you fly some thousand miles across the Atlantic you are less inclined to give up due to excessive heat which I must admit was my attitude for several days (I also managed to read exactly 3 pages of my book on this holiday).
Still, in the long run, this was certainly a holiday to remember and I am sure it had a profound impression on the kids, even if they won't admit it today (Michi swears his greatest impression is on the back of his pants for sitting more than 60 hours on the damned short back bench of the Audi). Apart from that, any klutz can sit with a Campari-Soda at the pool of a Sheraton, real men sit with a luke warm plastic bottle of Badoit on the sandy, smelly, shadeless banks of the Dordogne watching their children drift off slowly towards the hydroelectric power plant while their wet dog takes another dust bath to be followed by a roll across the freshly washed towels ...