We Have Arrived in France – Thursday, 9th June 2016
Luckily, the flight from DFW to Paris Charles-De-Gualle was uneventful, the immigration and baggage processing went without a hitch. We were soon queued up at the car hire desk. Perhaps the desk agent had super-French extra sensory perception, but getting the car was not fun. Comparing my interaction with desk agent to that of other English speakers, it seemed like it was this man’s turn for bring-you-haughty-derision to work day. Perhaps it was just the Parisian charm that many, even the non-Parisian French, talk about. Off we trudged to pick up the car, dragging our bags along behind us. This was not the first, nor the last time, that I wished I had packed lighter. Christieann had done a better job than I had at packing light, in spite of the bright and colorful decoration on her bags.
As a reminder that heightened security is an everyday airport issue we lumbered past a group of French soldiers. They were clustered outside the automatic doors catching a smoke break. As the epitome of French soldiers they managed to be stylish, bored and still intimidating. Their berets were cocked at the regulation rakish angle, their stance was semi-alert while expending the least amount of effort possible. The streams of cigarette smoke emanating from some them betrayed the fact that they were gossiping and joking. It would probably be a long and boring day for those young men. Our day would also be long, but not boring.
The Captur Of A Car
The first surprise was the car hire complex was hidden away beneath the concrete columns of a large elevated roundabout (turn-circle) . This came as a bit of a shock as most larger airports have relocated into sprawling complexes a distance away from the terminals. Instead of a large open tract of concrete with neat rows of cars, there was a mass of cars shoehorned into every possible space, and at every possible angle. Random cars were blocking most aisles. It was pandemonium.
Looking at the small box, with a wheel at each corner, that they humorously called a car. This is what they expected me to accept in place of the type that I had booked. This go-cart made a Mini seemed spacious. I had driven many cars that were called the Opel/Vauxhall Astra, this one was just the As part. Time to kick up a fuss. The revised car, a stylish crossover called a Renault Captur, was much better. There was ample room inside the cabin, and a nice size boot/trunk. Granted, we could barely fit our bags in the boot without the parcel-tray sticking up a little, but it would suffice. At this point I just wanted to get away from the airport. I was even more annoyed when I had to go back and get the worker to mark the existing damage on the paperwork. He did not think it was important, if only the desk agents took the same attitude when it came to returning the car. Ahhh, I had so missed those Gallic shrugs of indiffernce that is the French national sport. Calm done, we would soon on our way to Giverny.
Knowing that Monet’s Garden, at Giverny, was the first of our planned stops I had already programmed this, and many other destinations, into the GPS software on my phone. We had talked about it before, so as we ventured forth at the start of our expedition we just one thing foremost in our minds. “Don’t get on the A1 toll road”. And before we knew it, we were on the A1 toll road. I can make excuses all day; the roads were strange, the road signs were not familiar, and the GPS app always seemed to tell you were to go just after you needed to know it. We were committed to going north along the A1 and there was no obvious choice but to continue until we could get off at the nearest exit.
The Roads Took A Toll
An exit soon appears, and so does a row of toll booths. Confusion reigns supreme when presented with an automated toll machine with directions only in French. “How do we work this thing?”. A line of cars starts to gather behind us. I jump out of the drivers seat, and scurry to the bags in the boot of the car. Somewhere in them are a mixture of coins from my trip to Dublin. At the same time I fanatically gesture apologies at the bemused occupants of the cars behind us. After depositing something like 75 Euro cents we are on our way again. Around a roundabout, and then another roundabout to the south bound lane. Lo, and behold, its another toll booth. More coins are fed into the ravenous automated money machine, and we are off again. I vow to avoid the toll roads again until I have absolutely no choice.
Giverny Awaits
One of the advantages of driving ourselves around is that we could stop where we wanted, and set our own schedule. Once we got into the open country we pulled over for a brief stop. We had been traveling for almost a full day, and we needed to make a dent in the large stack of protein bars we had brought with us. This also gave me an opportunity to rearrange the car a little, the statutory emergency kit was hidden under a panel in the floor of the boot. That was shifted around to make more room for the bags. The extra few inches worked a treat and allowed the bags to fit perfectly. The panel was unceremoniously deposited on the back seat of the car.
Ambleville
We soon came across a small town called Ambleville. We parked in the village square for a look around. Although we did not realize at the time, this town had a feature that we later noticed in many places. There was no one around, even in the center of the town.
After this brief diversion, we were back on the road and it was not long before we arrived at Giverny. It was obvious that this was a popular place with tourists from all nations. Families, foreign tourists, and schoolkids were everywhere. Although it was busy, the place still had a rustic charm and an authentic character. If you look carefully, especially in the pond pictures, you can see lots of people in the distance.
Pictures of the Giverny village
The Gardens
Compared to many gardens there were slightly overgrown and chaotic in layout. The gardens seemed very natural, a perfect embodiment of an aging artists garden.
Across the lane was the Lily pond. It seemed to be undamaged after the recent rains. The answer was nearby, a bypass watercourse was still racing with water. The pond was serene and peaceful.
The Lily pond
After a long stroll around the sights of Giverny. It was time to say goodbye to floral sights and smells of Monet’s Gardens, the peace of the Lilly Pond, and the village itself. It was well worth the detour and the few hours we spent there.
Northwards To Pozières
Over 100 miles of road lay ahead, several more hours of travel, until we would reach our home for the next few days. Butterworth Farm, in Pozières, on the Somme. The roads were narrow on the drive north, we seemed to pass through every village in northern France on the way. Such is the method of driving in France while avoiding the toll roads. Unsure of what provisions were available in our accommodation, we made a stop at a Lidl supermarket somewhere near Amiens. It was a great opportunity for Chistieann to gaze in wonder, and confusion, at the many eclectic products sold by such continental market chains as Lidl, and Aldi.
Nous Sommes Arrivés
Later in the evening we safely arrived in Pozières, and settled into our new home. Our hosts, Bernard and Marie, welcomed and introduced us to the fellow residents. The other residents were a mixture of mostly Brits, and and a pair of Aussies. The stopover for provisions at the Aldi was not really required. There was a well stocked fridge, cold beer on tap, and a variety of cakes on the breakfast counter. Real food, and a little alcohol would revive me.
Many Brits visiting the area would stay in the nearby town of Albert, wanting to stay in a smaller of more intimate location I was glad to find Butterworth Farm in Pozières. Pozières village is centrally located in the Somme battlefield area. The village is located on D929 between Albert to Bapaume following the line of a roman road. Butterworth Farm is named after the English composer George Butterworth. Butterworth was killed near there on the 5th of August 1916, during the Battle of Pozières. There is a family connection for staying in Pozières, the 48th (South Midland Division), my great grand father’s unit, fought near here along with Australian forces. It was a simple homage to both the British, and the Australian, sides of my fathers family to stay in Pozières. I would heartily recommend staying at Butterworth Farm. Merci, to Bernard and Marie, for making us fell so welcome.
My sister, Lynette, and niece, Bobby, were on the way from England via the Channel Tunnel. They were also due to arrive that evening, and were staying through to Monday, just as we were. They were coming over in the VW Combi van, completed with bikes, and Hazel. Hazel is Bobby’s adorable little Phalène.
It’s at this time I would have to say that my standing practice, when traveling, is to conform to the local time instead of simply crashing after arriving. Adrenaline, and the excitement of a experiencing a new location, will stop me from sleeping. Christieann, on the other hand, would rather to have crashed and got a good nights sleep straight away. She knows what is best for her, but I am stubborn, and I made the travel plans. At this point we had been up for 36 hours with only a little sleep on the transatlantic flight last night. As expected, the jet lag crash would hit me in a few days. That was a problem for then, at this time I was a little concerned about where the girls were, so was my mum. With the heady mixture of excitement about what lay ahead, concern about the girls whereabouts, and the lack of sleep, I stayed up until the girls arrived just before midnight. Once they arrived we had to catch up. Lynette had driven from Bristol, then down to collect Bobby and Hazel from Brighton. Then it was across to Dover, and the train through the Channel Tunnel. Bobby had driven the unfamiliar VW Combi from Calais up to Pozières. Their journey from Calais to the Somme was much quicker, and easier, than the trek that hundreds of thousands of Brits had experienced 100 years ago. Unlike so many of them, we would go home afterwards.
Tomorrow, our main goals for Friday were to visit Thiepval Memoral, and Beaumont Hamel. It was finally time for bed.
Tim
7th June 2017
Foe the next chapter see Our First Day On The Somme
Links
Monet’s Foundation Official Website (English).
BBC Article on the May/June 2016 floods. Link.
Butterworth Cottage website (French). Link.
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