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Sunpeaks and Whistler

Managed to wangle my way onto another work trip, this time off to Canada to take a look at our newest resort - Sunpeaks, as well as an old stalwart in Whistler. I definitely took quite a shine to the newest addition especially the inbound off-piste area known simply as Gils. Hike in access only to grab some untouched powder runs after the bags of snowfall that fell before we arrived and kept coming all season.

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Snowboarding in Japan

A little video I put together on my travels in Japan (work definitely has its benefits). We skied/boarded in Rusutsu, Niseko and Kiroro before heading to Tokyo for a quick pit stop on the way home. One hell of a trip and some very snowy mountains.

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Edinburgh 

Just thought we’d try out Airbnb and had never been to Scotland so why not combine the two. A weekend in the capital. And it happened to be valentines day.

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Mountain roads proved to be much fun

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Rolling on to St Tropez

There is something about the feel of just being outside that is nice after a while, we’ve been camping for some time now, so cooking outside, eating outside, sleeping outside the only time we really venture inside is a supermarket even the bars we have frequented have been largely outside either on the beach or fully open to cobbled streets, music and dancing. The feel of the salt on the skin creating a soft, chalky texture to the hands and feet. Hair has gone a little wild as a breeze whispers through the bamboo wafting over sizzled sausages as the sunset glows down upon us. Spiced rum trickles down dry throats as the trees silhouette and vines sway away their sweet acidic scent. It feels good, it feels customary and right. The thought of going back to the office is a far off alternative reality as the sea laps through your toes and the spectrum of blues ripple before you out from the sandy underfoot. Timelessness should remain timeless ‘nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road’.

People drive like only people with plush cars can down tiny lanes here. Many near misses and heavy pullovers have lined the lanes. With Harley’s, Ferraris and Porsches in abundance, so much in abundance they have become laughable and slightly boring, I’m craving a bashed up Volvo or a beat up hatchback. You can see why people congregate here, however, as the beach is gorgeous along with the sea and one in a hundred pairs of baps out.

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Hanging out on the clifftops of Cassis.

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Banishing the demons in icy waters

After managing to arise from a poisoned head we headed for the beaches looking at the peaches, to our dismay we were too late for food so a trip back up to the village of Cassis got me stuck in some tortuous one-way system as Ellie obtained Panini’s and cold drinks, eventually finding our way back to the shady grove we parked up and set up camp on top of the sunny cliffs where you could climb down and take a plunge in the very refreshing waters below. An instant cure for a hazy head. Books and crosswords in the sun won the day with the blue waters providing the vital life force.

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Dancing through the wine sodden cobbles

In the morning markets, we stocked up on nuts, legumes and cured meats treating ourselves to a new belt and earrings as a brass band parffft out the beat to a tap dancer and the applauding crowd. Aix on Provence turned into not a lot, managing to stumble into a food festival, we overlooked the white tents and champagne buckets whilst eating our market ensemble and listening to the opera singer reaching the notes of Carmen and La Boheme. Cassis provided our nightly port (quite literally) of call. We pitched up and headed down to the town for la fete de la musique, the summer solstice celebrations. Perched outside a wine bar in cobbled alleys we danced the night away to a guitarist and voice. One from the crowd got in on the action with some classic french tunes in his booming tones. Rosé made our way down to the port for a nightcap with the Belgians and a stumble back up the steep streets to our humble abode.

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Wild swimming and wonderful wines

The bambooserie was a nice little morning excursion with bamboo forests, water gardens and dragon rivers through Laotian mock villages and the fluffiest chicken I have ever seen - Whatever way round it stood it just looked like some massive fuzz ball, snow white. Ells finally got to see her pigs that she has been seeing in every other animal since we got to France be it cows, dogs or humans.

With cool beverages in hand and the roof rolled back we pottered on towards Chateauneuf du Pape, covering the car floor in sticky sweetness as the car rolled around corners. The heat soon sorted out the fluid rivers in Dolly as we came upon some gorges where waterfalls cascaded down pool after pool into deep gullies scattered with protruding rocks. The cliffs made for a great spot to bask in the sun and a climb down to the water or indeed a leap off the rocks provided a lovely bathing temperature. The river current allowing a lazy float downstream or battle to make your way back upstream. A great afternoon before the wineries of the Chateau.

Danielle’s recommendations came off a treat with a great meal followed by a French band singing English songs without knowing the words. A mumbling of rough sounds which was entertaining, to say the least. The band was followed by a DJ who got all the tiny kids going on the dance floor, break dancing and high-speed lunging whilst their parents bobbed around using the kids as an excuse to get a cheeky dance in. It was glorious to collapse onto an amazing bed at the Wine B&B our Asian themed room was beautiful followed by breakfast in the garden with homemade jams, preserves and Nectarines from Danielle’s daughters' orchard, a great start to the next day. 'The 2CV reminds me of a lot of things from when I was young' I'm sure it does Danielle, but there is such a thing as over-sharing.

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Carcassonne

Parking in the furthest away car park we could possibly find we walked through the army outcast downtown Carcassonne, the town Carcassonne has seemingly been built to guard the citadel from the dirty dwellers outside the walls. The walled city itself was beautiful if full of screaming children and even louder Spaniards. We found a hat to add to the collection and I relaxed in the passenger seat as Ells practised her gears and tin car ambling down tunnels of trees throwing pillars of shade onto Dollies scorching Bonnet.

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Day 6

Burning brakes and free camping

Smoke rolled down the river and climbed up the banks as the sun beat down over the cobbled streets and pinnacled chateaux of Bellecastle. We tore over the seemingly pedestrianised bridge drawing applause and wonderment from the baying crowds to come back only to repeat the feat having gone the wrong way to the ‘confusement’ and amusement of the ageing ramblers. Today was a driving day to make it down below Carcassonne for some fabled wild swimming. We had lunch on the go making to the natural heated hot springs in the late afternoon, bathing in the cool pools and under the cascading hot waterfall we set forth to go lake diving in a mountainous retreat only to find a deserted, depressing and dilapidated holiday village and a long(ish) drive back to more promising lands. Alas, we have wild swam and wonderful it was too.

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Day 5

Stumbling upon miles of walking

Rising to pack up and chug off the campsite leaving behind Dolly’s many admirers (she even got a mention in our neighbour's blog) as the sun beat down upon us for the first time since our arrival. We are in some strange time-space continuum type malarkey. Whereby the road and the car are as if time were linear, creating this sequence of places and events as we tour through France. Each and every time we set foot out of the car and therefore off the road we enter this alternative time space where events are unconnected and individual with no link or recollection of order established, a smorgasbord of happenings, wonderings and magicians. These occurrences can be pinned onto the road but remain absent of time, out of the linear loop. If only we had a watch.

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Day 4

Burning Thighs and Sore Bums

After an early lunch to absorb away the poisons of the night before, we caught the tourism office finally open where we were put on the trail of many a cycling wine tour. Not being keen cyclists or knowing too much about wine we opted for the shorter family run affair and meandered through seas of wine to be. As the weather fluctuated from drizzle to sunshine, we were mightily thankful for the cloud cover as the topography of St Emilion isn't flat open meadows but steep hills that provide different soils for the vines to grow. Shallow clays at the summits and deep sandy soil at the bottom. The area has 5 different distinct soil types which create very different wines and when mixed together they give the wine complexity we crave.The merlot is used for the structure (tannin) and the sauvignon franc for fruity flavours amongst other bits such as the age of the barrel playing a large part, younger barrels create oakier wines so they are mixed with older more wine soaked barrels again for depth of flavour as well as the desirable 'quaffability'. So we did learn all this from various Chateaux’s as we peddled our thighs away, sampling from various bottles and direct from the barrels with wonderful glass pipets. Albeit not every Chateaux was open and without a phone we couldn't ring to get in touch, the welcomed sit down outside them was still worth it admiring, well just admiring, we saw the bottles getting labelled and corked, vines getting hair dried and others proving that it wasn't just us struggling up the steeps. The scenery was simply divine, well worth the first day without driving so as to enjoy the slower life (not that we were zooming before) capped with mouth-watering evening meal sat on a terrace looking down upon the hillside town, even if we didn't get exactly what we ordered, our French is still in its infancy, the duck was mouth watering, foie gras and gambas delectable and we finished in cheese board heaven as the last of the red ran out.

Cycling home by the last morsels of the days light, a steady decline for the entirety led us straight to a well-earned bed. Top Notch.

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Day 3

Ignoring any and all plans

After a night planning to get the ferry from Blaye to Pauillac to sample some of Bordeaux's' famous wineries, we awoke to drizzle once more and the thought of traipsing round vineyards had somewhat lost its charm in the absence of Mr Sun, hence the abrupt change to the city of Bordeaux where there could be room to escape the downpour. Bordeaux is gorgeous with beautiful old architecture creating winding streets opening out onto cobbled squares serving carpaccio and wine to the well-dressed dwellers. A bummel through buildings and down alleys took us to pop up street foods, galleries and countless cafes, on one street even the picturesque architecture was pre-dated by the ladies of the night (in broad daylight). We had parked in the mines of Moria proving to be the biggest obstacle yet in hindering our progress as we worked out how to escape the dungeon and wind our way towards the light. 

Petrol stations are not proving to be our friends with one on the road to Bergerac refusing any and all of our payment methods forcing us to chug on with fingers crossed and eyes peeled for the glowing numbers of a fuel haven. We eventually coasted into the wisp of Bergerac which turned out to be a solitary bar (I think we got the wrong place) so rolling on down to St-Emilion turned out to be the unwavering highlight of the trip thus far. We entered flanked by hillside vineyards circling a central Chateaux, in the distance, the village crept out of the vines with a golden hue. The haphazardly cobbled streets led to beautiful squares, churches and countless wines, steep inclines to the upper reaches provided soaring views over the rooftops flowing into grapes over yonder. Rustic charm oozes from the stonework and leaves you with an ethereal glow. We'd found a campsite tucked into the vine-strewn fields only to be turned away as dolly did not cut it as a camper-van, go figure. So more wine and a tepid bbq ensued where the promised lighter fluid to great flaming artworks turned out to be a bottle of extinguishing fluid - water. But all was not lost, the Rosé prised a new scale from our thinking caps, how to rate the gloriously guzzled wines. Not a simple scale but a plethora of oddities, subjective statements and feeling not forgetting the surroundings and state of mind when partaking in the nectar inhalation. One must be handicapped for sozzling taste buds.

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Day 2

Game Changing Detours  and Flunch

Well, we have been spoilt on the facilities front, with no one else at home we've had the shower block as a private bathroom. A certain someone in our party of two has brought 17 bags of creams and gels, however, I have been informed that come my time of need I will be begging for the exfoliant. Which to some extent I'm sure I'll be on the thanking side in due course.

Emerging from camp we met a train of vintage cars so naturally tagged onto the end on the long line of 2CVs down to a car rally with Dolly's friends. An unexpected turn in the morning started us off in great spirits for a drive to La Rochelle. It drizzled the whole way there and La Rocheshite morphed into a warren of industry and imaginary petrol stations, we skirted through and veered off to Ile de Re gate crashing a castle wedding before having flunch on the idyllic harbour. A delightful moules frites turned into a two-hour lunch, wolfing down the delicious mussels left us plenty of time to deliberate life and plan routes whilst we wondered where all the waiting staff had gone with their two-second memories. Or maybe they just didn't care for our broken French.

With the long lunch, our attentions turned to finding a bed for the night, after circling the harbour twice unable to find a way out of the loop. Should we give in and get a hotel room for the night as it's pretty dingy overhead or is that giving in on just the second night. We made our way towards Bordeaux as we deliberated the time old question of sleeping when the rain gave way to sunshine as we trundled through the never-ending vineyards and made our minds up for us. Camping. After our solitary first night we wanted something special again so sped past some and other closed chateaux's till we stumbled upon a lovely little place on its own vineyard down countless winding tracks. Turns out nothing is open on a Sunday so we had leftover burger buns, chutney, olives and wine to make a less than desirable dinner (bar the wine part) over a view of vines and horses.

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So we did go to France that time...

Day 1 Begin at the beginning and go on till you reach the end, then stop

After saying our short goodbyes to rainy England we arose to spy France emerging from our portal window, the promised land beckoned. We had a couple of goals for the trip one of which is to avoid toll roads, just see a bit more of the country and take it easy exploring. But that went out the window within 5 minutes, as we got lost and bundled down a toll road only to have to trawl back up it again, double trouble. Plain sailing took centre stage after that and Dolly saw us proud. She coasted through the danger zones, she out sped her speedometer, rattled and shook her way down dual carriageways, crackled and popped her jolly self to countless thumbs up, cheers and inspections. "Your French is not good, but, you have a loverly French Car". Dolly got us invited into Cecil’s home, he thought in French and had been so long since his Irish days he struggled a little, but couldn't be friendlier! They're putting on a music concert tomorrow, perhaps worth a pop by. She drove 320 odd miles without complaint, even enduring talk of Super-U somehow deteriorating into festivities of debauchery. A slight off road detour cumulated at the oldest house in a vineyard-studded region just north of La Rochelle, as the sun ended it's journey the chirping commenced and wine bottles accumulated on the lakes banks, popping bubbly on the first night of many.