Southern France, Part 2

20th March, 2000

We set off, heading east on the D559 coast road, past La Ciotat where we had spent a memorable week some years ago on a campsite overlooking the sea.   Our route took us through Bandol, Toulon and Hyères to Le Lavandou, where we had hoped to find a campsite.   The first open site we found, however, was at Cavalaire-sur-Mer, not far from St. Tropez.   The site had not long been open, was a bit lacking in facilities and had workmen all over the place.   The receptionist was a little off-hand and was not willing to put up with our attempted French language as she could speak just about every European language.   The site was also heavily shaded and we had difficulty in finding a pitch where we might see the sun, should it make an appearance and, more importantly, the Astra satellite.

The site had good washing machines and, on the Tuesday morning, we got this chore out of the way and, in the afternoon, planned to settle down to watch the Budget.    Soon after lunch, however, the power went off and, after trying all the sockets in the nearby power pod, we realised that a major re-wiring exercise was in progress down by reception.   We are carrying what seems like tons of spares and equipment, but one by one the various bits are being required.   At this point, our inverter was used in anger (actual anger) to enable us to watch the Budget as planned.   To keep our fridge cool we had to run it on the hideously expensive French Camping Gaz.   Our off-hand receptionist, who somehow retained her electricity supply, could offer no accurate prediction on when we might have the power restored.

We went into the town of Cavalaire in search of Internet facilities which were in a Restaurant on the front, but inoperative as the 'expert' was not present.   We returned to a still power-less camp and David watched the work going on in the sub-station.   Power was restored at about 6 p.m. and when we began to cook dinner, not surprisingly we found our gas had run out.   Here we might mention that we have stuck to the relatively small and in France outrageously expensive Camping Gaz because it is available in all European countries and the heavier bottles make it difficult for us to balance the caravan.  

In Spain we had been paying around £3 for 2.75 Kg of Gaz, but here it was nearer £10.   This and many other anomalies in prices between two countries with a long and easily crossed border, give the lie to the idea that the so-called single market is bringing about price reductions.    During our over-wintering in Spain, we had taken for granted the lower cost of living.   Now we were beginning to find French prices rather irritating.   Clearly, there are non-tariff barriers at work - as we know in the case of beef.   As we listen to the news, with its constant bitching about the strength of the pound, we realise that the real problem is the unrealistic strength of the Franc within the Euro grouping.   Were our exporters to get their wish of a 20 - 30% devaluation of the pound, we could not afford to live in France.   So far as we can tell, only property is significantly lower in cost in France and then mostly remote and rural property.   Along the Mediterranean coast all property commands a premium, but we are surprised that in France, outside of the famous resorts, property is much less expensive than on the Costas.

On the Wednesday, we packed a lunch and set off to visit St. Tropez once again.    We had been told that there was an Internet Cafe in Gassin and made that our first call.   We had had a wonderful evening two years ago with Swiss friends in Gassin and were pleased to be back.   The weather was mild and sunny and we looked over the Bay of St. Tropez, shown below left.   The Internet facility was well signed, but closed so we made our way down to St. Tropez.   Here we came across someone riding a wonderful old Ariel motorbike, which we picture below, centre.    The bike had a Union Flag on the back, above a French number plate.    We were surprised to see the same bike a few days later in Fréjus, but on reflection we are almost certainly only a small part of the itinerant drift along the coast.   We wandered the port, shown below right, once again and lunched there, before seeking out the Internet Cafe that the Office of Tourism told us about.

The camp was still without power on our return and we decided to leave the next day, as they obviously had a little to learn about customer care.   To be fair, however, when we complained the receptionist did waive the charges for it.

23rd March, 2000

We left Cavalaire heading north past Gassin and round the Golf de St. Tropez, passing the site at Beauvallon where we had stayed two years ago.   The road here was still remarkably busy, but nothing like when we were last here.   Then, in the thick holiday traffic, it had taken us over an hour to travel 4 Km to the Draguignan road.  We continued hugging the coast till we got to Fréjus and St. Raphaël, where the authorities go to extreme lengths to get traffic off the coast road.    We finished up going through a tunnel, that barely cleared our bikes on the roof, and along a circuitous route that brought us out at Boulouris back on the coast road.   As we continued to head north-east along the Corniche de l'Esterel, we realised that this was one of the prettiest parts of the French Riviera and were pleased to find a beach-side camp site in Agay.  

The site is shown above left and in the late afternoon above centre.     It has its own gate onto the beach.  We have yet to find the perfect site, but this one does come close.   Its idiosyncrasy lies in the incredibly small cubicles for toilets, showers and washbasins, better suited to midgets or children, as was the irritating practice of turning the lights off at 10 o'clock.    The site was also very steep and the best pitches 'bord de la mer' were very soft sand.   We were still some distance from Nice but seriously considered staying here when our daughter visited.   That night however it poured down and on and off for much of the next day.   We briefly explored Agay and its resort complex of Cap d'Esterel before heading back to Frèjus in search of food.   We came upon the W.W.II landing site on the road to Frèjus, pictured above right.  The landing craft and the two somewhat ugly pillars are all that remain to remind us of its history.

25th March, 2000

On the Saturday, we set off to explore Frèjus, which had been a Roman port, though the sea is now further away than in those days.   It still has one or two interesting ruins.  

First we visited the ancient Place Formigé with its ancient Cathedral.   We sneaked the picture, right, of its cloisters and, far right, of its carved doors, above which is the date 1/4/1530, but decided to leave a more detailed look for later.

We set off in search of its Amphitheatre, founded by Julius Caesar in 49 BC and came to the Place Agricola, which is looked over by the imposing statue, shown left.   We found the Amphitheatre, which is noted for its green facing-stones that must of have made it rather special in the Roman Empire.  It was closed, but we walked around it and noticed a strange over-hang jutting out from a steep bank on its north-eastern side and shown below left. On closer examination, we concluded that it must be an old - presumably Roman - road that led to the Amphitheatre.

In Roman times, this road, which is high above the Amphitheatre floor level, must have led to the top tiers of the Amphitheatre and its north-eastern wall was probably cut into the hillside.   The roadway from which we could see the exposed road is probably a quite recent cutting.   On the steep slopes we could see many strata of the underlying geology, including the strange green rock that faces the Amphitheatre.    We next looked at what remains of the Aqueduct to the north of the town, shown above centre and puzzled over the strange alignments, which indicated that it took a circuitous route for some reason.

After a bit of a struggle with the railway line, we managed to get down to the coast and, to make up for our earlier debacle, managed to follow it all the way back to Agay, stopping briefly in Saint-Raphaël shown above right.  We noticed an Internet shop on the outskirts of Saint-Raphaël but it was closed.

25th March, 2000

Still unsure of whether to move closer to Nice and away from our sea-side camp site, we decided to do a reconnaissance and drove up the rest of the Corniche d'Esterel towards Nice.   The weather was mixed, but nonetheless it was an impressive journey.   The red colour of the volcanic stone is quite unlike the adjoining areas of coastline.   We cruised through Cannes, which used to be one of our favourite places, and on towards Nice.   Our guide books tell us that there are no good camp sites actually in Nice, so we looked the ones near Antibes.  We followed the coast road round the Cap d'Antibes and all the way to Villeneuve Loubet Plage without seeing any coastal camp sites.   We then headed inland and decided that the best site was probably La Vieille Ferme.   One site, called the Panoramer, had spectacular views but the access to it was a bit hairy, even without a caravan.    We returned to Agay via the motorway.

Over the previous few days we had begun to notice a noise from what we thought was the back axle.  However, with the roof rack on, we couldn't be sure it was not just wind noise.   However, by the time we got off the motorway, we were fairly sure it was getting noisier.   It was also getting very windy even in our camp site at the edge of the sea.   We were surprised to be told that it was the Mistral as we didn't realise it extended so far.   Monday was wet and windy and it was quite impractical to put up our awning on the pitch we had chosen, so we decided that we had to move.  

28th March, 2000

We set up camp at La Vieille Ferme then went shopping at the Géant in Villeneuve Loubet Plage.   Kate booked a hairdo and David organised to send flowers to his Mother.   We then returned to camp to prepare for our daughter's visit.   On the right, Jayne can be seen arriving at Nice airport on 30th.   Jayne's EasyJet flight from Luton arrived ten minutes early and we were soon back at camp for our dinner.

The next day was fairly wet and so we loafed around camp chatting.    With two engineers in attendance, it was time to look at the noisy back axle.    Hoping against hope that it might be simple, we jacked one rear wheel at a time and ran it up to speed.   The noise from the outside was quite loud, regardless of which wheel was spinning, leaving no room to doubt that the problem lay with the differential, which further inspection revealed had a worn left-hand drive shaft bearing.

On the Saturday the weather was good so we drove back down the Corniche de l'Esterel, with its little secluded bays, like the one pictured right.    We stopped again at Agay for a picnic on the beach and explored Cap Esterel, shown far right.

Cap Esterel is a holiday village with flats apartments as well as restaurants,   boutiques and a hotel.   It is spotlessly clean and looks very secure.    It enjoys fantastic views over the Mediterranean.  Outsiders are allowed to park free for two hours, which may be a smart marketing ploy, as the place is quite seductive.   We broke our house rules and tucked in to crêpes at one of the bars.

We returned to Fréjus with Jayne to show her around.    We found the Tourist Office open and, with the aid of a map, found the Roman Theatre, shown left.   Entrance was free which always increases our interest.    Not much of it is left, however.   We walked back to the Cathedral where we had to pay to visit the Cloisters and Baptistry.   By luck, we arrived just a guided tour was beginning at the ancient carved doors that we had previously photographed.   We were to learn that the carvings depicted scenes of a Saracen massacre.

The oldest part is the octagonal Baptristry, the upper part of which, with its brick and stone arches, is shown immediate right and the Pool, far right, in which the initiates were immersed.  Originally, one entered through a small doorway and left through a larger one, signifying the enlarged spiritual stature of the baptised.

The tour led on to the ancient Cloisters, the ceiling of which is shown below.    This dates from the 14th century and still has some 400 of the original 1200 small painted panels depicting scenes from the apocalypse

The twin marble pillars of the cloisters, shown below left, date from the 12th century.   A double set of stairs lead to an upper floor.   Because of the small size of the cloisters, the individual steps are much larger than is comfortable, or would meet current building regulations.   The picture below right looks down on the well in the courtyard.

As we left, the bells were sounding in the tower, shown immediate right.   Whenever we hear bells on this trip, we are reminded of how lucky we are to live in a small English village with a Church with six bells that are rung in a tuneful manner.

Lastly, we made for the Amphitheatre, shown above right, which - though officially closed - let us in to take a few pictures.   We returned to camp via the supermarket at St. Raphaël, where we got cheap petrol and the Pinot to which we had unwisely introduced Jayne.   We used the motorway and felt that the noise from the back was getting worse.

2nd April, 2000

Somewhat nervously we headed up the coast through Nice and past Villfranche sur Mer, pictured below left, and on to Monaco, below centre.   Monaco was where we ended up on our first and still memorable drive to the Mediterranean when our children were small.   We had watched the Grand Prix when Gilles Villeneuve had won and became enchanted by the whole spectacle.  In those days, you could almost wander in and out of the garages unchallenged and it was not unusual for cheeky tourists to climb into the cars and be photographed.   The weather was not too good and we had to dodge the showers, which was not at all unusual on many of our visits.   We meant to go to see the perched village of Eze, but finished up high above it, from where the picture below right was taken. 

Reluctant to travel further, we returned to camp for dinner.   The next day was even wetter, but we decided anyway to visit the old town of Nice with its remarkable Baroque Church and narrow busy streets.   We had a most pleasant lunch in a Greek style restaurant and, after some more wandering, returned with Jayne to the airport for her return flight.

With the visit over, the next day we turned our attentions to our sick motor.    Arriving at the main dealer just before lunch, we were met with almost complete disinterest in our problem and we returned to raise the matter with our breakdown insurance company.   Here it is worth making the point that these companies are well equipped and experienced at sorting out breakdowns, but are of little help in situations where ultimate breakdown is inevitable but has not yet happened.    While we have little experience of other manufacturers, we have to say that we have been very disappointed with the level of commitment found at our maker's dealers.    While it is understandable that they have a backlog of work, it is amazing that they have no capability to sort out a foreign traveller without making them wait a week or more before starting the job.

We were pretty sure it was the diff. and took the car to an independent garage recommended by our breakdown insurers.   The boss test drove it and gave the opinion that it was a wheelbearing, despite being told that the noise was the same when either wheel was stationary.   However, we duly brought the car back to him first thing on Tuesday morning, where - after an hour's wait - he quickly agreed that it was the diff.

We returned to the main dealer and ordered a differential.   We almost passed out on seeing the price and gasped when asked for a deposit that left us almost penniless.   We were promised a phone call when the part arrived, but by Friday, when we had not heard, visited again to find that it had arrived.  We took our recently-arrived new credit cards out of hiding in case we might need them, but were not asked to pay.  Though we did not know it, this was a big mistake.   The car was booked in for Tuesday morning.

Saturday morning we went shopping.   It was a crowded and unpleasant experience and we were soon to regret it even more.    As we drove back to camp along the N7, we came to a halt behind a few cars at traffic lights.   A black-clad and helmeted individual opened the front passenger door and took Kate's handbag from where it was tucked behind her legs on the floor.   It was over in seconds.    As we were boxed in, we were unable to do anything, but as the lights changed with hazard and head lights on, we roared after the thief, who escaped on the back of a high-powered motorcycle, pursued by two other motorcyclists who we at first thought were part of a gang.    However, we came upon these two a kilometre up the road and it transpired that they had tried to apprehend the criminals, but gave up when it became dangerous.

We have had discussions about handbags in the past and usually to the effect that David ought to have one as he can never remember where wallets, credit cards and keys were put.   We were always acutely aware of the counter argument of keeping so many critical things in one place, but never in our wildest nightmare could we have imagined what had just happened.   We have since learnt that this is a common modus operandi and, less than a week later, another British woman had the same experience in Nice.   Our big mistake was to have everything in the one bag.   In reality, while travelling, it is very difficult on the one hand to keep passports secure, but on the other to have them with you, as required by law.   Though we have never been asked for passports at borders since leaving the UK, we did have to show them to Spanish Police at a check-point on one occasion.   We have now introduced new rules for ourselves.   First and foremost to keep the car doors locked while driving at all times and secondly to keep no documents in any bags, but to squirrel them away in one of the myriad of hiding places in the car and caravan.  

We were taken by the two gallant French motorcyclists to the Police in Antibes. Those of you who have not experienced the French police system will find it hard to believe they are as bad as is alleged. Arriving at the nearest police station immediately after the event with our two gallant French motorcyclists, we were told they were too busy and were invited to report the next morning. The following day, we filed our report. The descriptions of the thieves and their bike, which our gallant witnesses had gone out of their way to report, were lost.   Despite not responding to the mobile call at the time, we noticed in the days following that there are plenty of Police around waiting to pull motorists for minor traffic infringements and, on the same road a few days later, a minor, no-injury accident brought out a swarm of blue lights within minutes.    It is clear that motorcycle snatch theft carries a low risk of apprehension in this part of the world.   In the UK, when a bit of our caravan was stolen from its compound, we had a visit from the local bobby within an hour.

The problem created by the theft took nine days to partially recover from.    We have still no passports and will be chancing our arm in Italy.    Fortunately,  we took out the photocard driving licences, which everyone knows is the UK's stealth ID card.   These seem to satisfy the need for ID and, provided you make sure you lose both parts of the licence when it is stolen, can be replaced remarkably quickly by telephone and credit card.   Full marks (amazingly) to DVLC.   Fortunately, David's cashcard was not stolen or compromised and we were able to milk cash machines to pay for the car repair, which was why we were still in the area to be robbed in the first place.  

One thing to think about if you have a second credit card on an account and it is stolen, you have to stop all the cards on the account and thus, having a second card is no help in a robbery.   We stopped the cards immediately and arranged for new ones to be sent which was a real pain not least because we had just faxed instructions to renew insurance and club membership with them.   This is where you find out how good your card issuer is.   Best marks to Barclaycard - two days, excluding the weekend, not so good, our Bank who needed a week longer.   DHL lost points because they advertise an 0800 number in the Yellow Pages and in a glossy Saatchi & Saatchi brochure, published just nine months ago, but have already discontinued it.    However, they have a web site into which you can key the Airbill number and find out where your cards are, which was not Nice.   They also lose marks for advertising themselves as 7/7, 24h/24, but are closed in Nice at weekends.

The car of course took three days to fix instead of the three hours they originally thought.   We had left them our phone number but only found out it was not ready by phoning them on each day.   This however is often the same in the UK.    The problem was not just the diff but a wheel bearing and we need a mortgage for the final bill.

The weather during our enforced stay has not been kind and to add to our woes the pitch we had taken was booked by someone else from Friday the 14th onwards.   As it was dry on the the morning of the 13th we took down the awning and piled it in the caravan with all the suitcases and clobber out of the car, even though we could not be sure it was coming back.   As soon as we had finished, it began to rain and continued on and off all weekend.   Despite the rain of the last few days, the campsite was filling for Easter and we were a little concerned to move on and find a pitch in Italy.

As soon as we got the car back on the 13th we took it by way of a test drive (with the doors locked) up the Digne road to a caravan shop.   If we had not had enough troubles, our loo seal had perished making it an even less pleasant task to empty the cassette.

We moved pitch on the Friday, went shopping, and began this section of the journal, made harder by the fact that the thieves had made off with our old fashioned diary that used to remind us of remind us of where we had been and when.   We broke off to go back to the Police Station in Antibes to see if we could get a crime number out of them and ask if there was any news.   They gave us a prepared address slip with the address of the "Objects Trouvés" office - which is what they should have given us when we first reported the theft.   The office was in Juan les Pins and, after getting well soaked looking, we found it and a very helpful young lady, who had no handbag, gave us the addresses of some of the other offices nearby.

We realised in hindsight that, instead of sitting bemoaning our loss, we should have been on to the Lost Property offices much sooner, as the chances were reasonable that, having taken Kate's 3 Francs, the thieves would dump the bag.   We hurried back to the camp to start phoning round, stopping only at the Internet Cafe on the N7 in Juan les Pins, called Web1.66.com.   Our phone calls still did not find the handbag.

On Saturday we were woken by the rain.   After breakfast the heavy rain turned into a cloudburst as intense as any we could recall, and certainly worse than when we had sat in the stands at Monaco and watched Ayrton Senna inch in Alain Prost who was begging the officials to stop the race.   Later it cleared up and we took a drive to Biot in the direction of which our erstwhile handbag snatchers had disappeared.    Biot, shown below left, is another "perched village", supposedly famous for its glass.   We looked in on a workshop in the main street, making what we thought would be a lampshade, shown below centre and right.  

Biot has a maze of tiny streets, one of which is shown below left.   In the centre is a picture of the inside of its somewhat dark Church, and below right is its main square.  

The next quiz we have to do for a party will include the question:  'What was the most significant event to happen in Biot in 1898?'   We returned to camp via Sophia Antipolis, which is a high-tech. industrial area that we had read about on the web.   

16th April, 2000

Another wet day.   We spent much of the day writing up this journal, which had become somewhat in arrears.   The weather, the car and the robbery had, to say the least, taken some of the gloss off our odyssey.   We had now been 'becalmed', as it were, for more than a fortnight and were getting restless.   The camp was well kept, with a superb sanitary block, but as the number of campers grew the camp staff had more difficulty in maintaining standards.   We had decided to chance our arm on Italy without passports and get to Rome as quickly as possible to get them replaced.

The following day, another wet Monday, we continued writing the journal.    We had just checked with DHL that our new cash-cards would be at their office that night, when the mobile phone rang and the Consul from Marseille told us the extraordinarily good news that Kate's handbag - and more particularly our passports - had just arrived in their post from Vallauris, not far from our camp.

Instinctively, we yelped with joy and were suddenly full of energy and purpose.    Now we would definitely leave the following day as we would have all our cards and passports and a functioning motor car.   We first went for our last trip to the Géant Superstore and double-stocked on Boursin, as we were not certain of what lay ahead in the Italian shopping arena.  We used the underground car park, which was just as well because the rain had more than intensified when we had finished.

Then, taking a packed lunch, we headed back to Marseille the quick way, in the rain, down the Péage, turning off at St. Maximin to head across north of the Ste-Baume Massif and into Marseille.  The weather improved half way and we arrived, appropriately enough, in sunshine with the Golden Virgin atop the Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde gleaming as if to welcome us.    Despite the heavy traffic, we found the Consulate fairly easily, where Kate was reunited with her handbag.   Apart from the 3 Francs and, for some inexplicable reason, her Brooklyn Ford keyfob, everything was there.   In fact - more was there - but we handed back some odd bits of costume jewellery that were presumably found at the same time.

As we arrived in the Consulate, another hapless Brit was remonstrating with the staff.   His story was that he had been put off a British bus returning to the UK and was penniless.   When asked the reason, he said that the driver has asked if he smoked pot and he had said that he did.   How dumb can you get?    He tried to strike up a friendship and claimed to be from David's home town.    We thought he might try to involve us in his plight but, as he was in the right place to be helped, we bade a quick farewell and hurried back to camp and began preparations to leave.

The map to the right shows our progress round the coast of France since last August.   Now we were poised just an hour from the Italian border and would be leaving with mixed feelings.   By poor chance, we had had more than our share of rain all the way round France, which was quite different from our experience of previous years.   We had realised how very expensive France is in comparison with the UK and more so with Spain.   On the other hand, we were glad to have had the advantage of the high pound.

Tuesday morning we hitched up in bright sunshine and headed up the Péage for Italy.   Things were looking up.

Last updated:  18/03/01