April 2013
I thought I would stand on the highway of life from Calais into and across France. Roads in France enable you to travel far and wide easily; autoroutes are straight and clear, reasonable traffic and I have never seen any road closures!
It costs of course; tolls are expensive: a pound per ten miles and with such a large country it is surprising the distance you cover in a short time. I personally prefer the highway of the canals: majestically slow, beautiful views, but of course hard work especially through all the locks. But with the extent of the waterways you can travel far and wide if you have the time. Many Brits, on retirement, buy a boat without any real knowledge of the rivers, currents and the complex rules of sail. It's a boat on the river they think – what's to know?
They learn of course by mistakes that a boat on a river has a mind of its own and after a while they fall out and either decide to call it a day or end in divorce. This especially occurs when Jack the lad wants to do all the steering, getting Flo rushing around using ropes and jumping off to get to the bollard before Jack forgets to down the throttle in time and reverse into the dock.
That's why a group of ladies decided to use their ill gotten gains of the divorce alimony to purchase a hotel barge together. It was truly luxurious.
Of course they employed a couple of nubile matelots, chef and Somalian wine waiter and connoisseur.
Reminded me of India where two ladies booked a small barge on a lake and two Indian chaps lived aboard, shopped and cooked, actually dealing to all their needs for two weeks. We met them at the only hotel we had stayed in for a night of luxury.
Actually I lie. We travelled to a city to visit the temples and were accosted by a tailor to come and see his shop where we could have a garment run up in a matter of hours.
This was actual, I had cups of tea and small snacks while they ran up a linen suit for my son.
In an hour it was finished except for the button holes and a little lad shot down the road to another place where making the button holes was a speciality. In twenty minutes he arrived back all done complete with buttons. I learnt all about tailoring and education of children – they can only go to school until ten years of age – and watched mesmerised at all the people who ordered clothes from the shop in that time. It cost five rupees if I remember correctly.
Anyway I digress, we decided to return to the place of entry. First class on a train. Big mistake.
Arriving at the station there was a query about our booking. They couldn't find it. My daughter in law was not one to be dismissed and created havoc enough for them to fit us in but we discovered we were sharing accommodation with three men.
I was tired by this time and just put my rucksack and sari up on the luggage rack and went to sleep for the quietest, most relaxed night of the vacation. No Temple chanting. No air conditioner . . . bliss!
The ladies cooking on their little stoves in the corridor were very generous with their own food to us and the gentlemen were properly so to Katrine, although laughing at her when she fussed as a cockroach ran across her leg.
Well whatever your mode of transport, it's still a long way to Tipperary.