Tour de Fromage - a tale of two adventurers
This is not so much as a travel blog as a luggage blog. We are currently relaxing at Bundarika Resort on Phuket Island in Thailand. Enjoying the hard earned relaxation fruits of our cycling holiday. Said fruits being blended directly into a cocktail.
The plan was for us to cycle around Europe for four months and then spend a week relaxing in a resort in Thailand to soothe our aching muscles. In some respects, our cycling trip never found real momentum. After a week of cycling, our bikes were stolen which laid us up in Perpignan for a week. After another week cycling through southern France we had to decamp to Paris to meet up with family, which is a pretty good excuse to dismount the saddle. Then Cassy returned to Australia for a week.
When Cassy returned we smashed out our longest cycling leg of the trip – zig zagging from Paris to Dijon. Once in Dijon we jumped a train to Busingen to meet Wendy and Ron who generously took us through the Swiss Alps to Zermatt. Once reunited with our bikes we lapped Lake Constance before returning to Busingen. Then we realised that I was about to become an illegal immigrant having spent too long in the Schengen zone. So we abandoned our bikes and headed to Croatia. After watching the drivers in Croatia for a few minutes, abandoning our bikes proved to be a smart move. Croatia is NOT a good destination for a cycling holiday.
By the time we returned to Busingen we had only ten days left to finish the cycling part of our holiday and once again depart Europe. We rode from Busingen along the Danube River in southern Germany.
And since we arrived in Thailand we have spent more time in the resort gym than at the spa!
Which doesn’t really bring me to the point of this blog. Whilst we are in Thailand – our stuff is all over the world. And I’m not really sure how to approach the telling of this story. Perhaps back in time is the best method.
We have with us our summer clothes, toiletries, some books and other essentials packed into the bag of one of our bike trailers.
We left one of the bike trailers in storage at Singapore airport. That has all our cycling gear, winter clothes, camping equipment and other stuff we dragged around the world with us.
Our bikes are in the basement of Wendy and Ron’s apartment in Busingen. Along with the bike pannier containing cycling maps (LOTS of cycling maps) a sleeping bag, cycling stuff and various other things. Already my memory of what we left there is starting to fade. Although what we did leave is very neatly packed. And we will return there to collect our bikes for another cycling holiday in Europe.
Some of r other stuff is spread randomly across Europe. We lost our pet crocodile Volenti in southern France. I have no idea where we misplaced my bag of spare cycling gear. Although I suspect I won’t need my winter cycling pants in Darwin. The other sleeping bag we abandoned in Figueres after we left it in our hotel room and were quoted $175 to on post it to Busingen.
Various bits and pieces are waiting for us in Perth. Five months of accumulated mail is waiting for us when we arrive along with some packages filled with over-packing and Cassy’s fashion shopping from New York, which we mailed home.
Our car is waiting for us in Derby along with our northern Australia camping gear and various other things that I can’t remember. Suffice to say that it took up a fair amount of room in the storage shed of Nicole and Jose’s place where we left it.
And our furniture, growing library, wardrobes and other household items are in storage – waiting for us in Darwin.
The last part of our trip is really an effort to reunite our stuff. We have survived five months without most of it. I’m not sure why we need so much stuff. But apparently we do!
The plan was for us to cycle around Europe for four months and then spend a week relaxing in a resort in Thailand to soothe our aching muscles. In some respects, our cycling trip never found real momentum. After a week of cycling, our bikes were stolen which laid us up in Perpignan for a week. After another week cycling through southern France we had to decamp to Paris to meet up with family, which is a pretty good excuse to dismount the saddle. Then Cassy returned to Australia for a week.
When Cassy returned we smashed out our longest cycling leg of the trip – zig zagging from Paris to Dijon. Once in Dijon we jumped a train to Busingen to meet Wendy and Ron who generously took us through the Swiss Alps to Zermatt. Once reunited with our bikes we lapped Lake Constance before returning to Busingen. Then we realised that I was about to become an illegal immigrant having spent too long in the Schengen zone. So we abandoned our bikes and headed to Croatia. After watching the drivers in Croatia for a few minutes, abandoning our bikes proved to be a smart move. Croatia is NOT a good destination for a cycling holiday.
By the time we returned to Busingen we had only ten days left to finish the cycling part of our holiday and once again depart Europe. We rode from Busingen along the Danube River in southern Germany.
And since we arrived in Thailand we have spent more time in the resort gym than at the spa!
Which doesn’t really bring me to the point of this blog. Whilst we are in Thailand – our stuff is all over the world. And I’m not really sure how to approach the telling of this story. Perhaps back in time is the best method.
We have with us our summer clothes, toiletries, some books and other essentials packed into the bag of one of our bike trailers.
We left one of the bike trailers in storage at Singapore airport. That has all our cycling gear, winter clothes, camping equipment and other stuff we dragged around the world with us.
Our bikes are in the basement of Wendy and Ron’s apartment in Busingen. Along with the bike pannier containing cycling maps (LOTS of cycling maps) a sleeping bag, cycling stuff and various other things. Already my memory of what we left there is starting to fade. Although what we did leave is very neatly packed. And we will return there to collect our bikes for another cycling holiday in Europe.
Some of r other stuff is spread randomly across Europe. We lost our pet crocodile Volenti in southern France. I have no idea where we misplaced my bag of spare cycling gear. Although I suspect I won’t need my winter cycling pants in Darwin. The other sleeping bag we abandoned in Figueres after we left it in our hotel room and were quoted $175 to on post it to Busingen.
Various bits and pieces are waiting for us in Perth. Five months of accumulated mail is waiting for us when we arrive along with some packages filled with over-packing and Cassy’s fashion shopping from New York, which we mailed home.
Our car is waiting for us in Derby along with our northern Australia camping gear and various other things that I can’t remember. Suffice to say that it took up a fair amount of room in the storage shed of Nicole and Jose’s place where we left it.
And our furniture, growing library, wardrobes and other household items are in storage – waiting for us in Darwin.
The last part of our trip is really an effort to reunite our stuff. We have survived five months without most of it. I’m not sure why we need so much stuff. But apparently we do!
It took about three days in Zagreb for me to pluck up the courage to stop changing the subject whenever Cassy asked “the women here are so attractive aren’t they?” Zagreb has its fair share of fat women in black dresses with sunken faces. But it also has its unfair share of the other type as well.
The longer we stayed in Zagreb the more comfortable I felt discussing this state of affairs with Cassy. And we came up with a number of theories about what we were seeing.
Firstly, we spent most of our time wandering around the old town in Zagreb. This would be a bit like walking through inner city Melbourne and then forming conclusions on the attractiveness of Victorian ladies without visiting Frankston.
Secondly, the Zagreb women mostly have natural long hair. Clearly the beauty industry’s incessant demands that women continuously mess around with the length, colour and style of their hair, usually by artificial means, have not yet penetrated into northern Croatia. (Although we did see some unbelievably wrong hairstyles in Zagreb.)
Thirdly, no-one in Zagreb seemed to eat. Ever. It was almost impossible to find a restaurant. Everywhere we went the public spaces were filled with tables served by waiters from “Caffe Bars”. But the Caffe Bars serve no food. We could walk for half an hour without seeing a restaurant. We concluded that the women clearly weren’t eating anything.
Fourthly, the smoking. Smoking rates in Croatia are very high and people smoke everywhere. In May 2010 new legislation banned smoking indoors in restaurants and bars. By the end of October 2010 the new legislation had been amended to relax these requirements. And everyone seemed to ignore the bans anyway. Chefs smoked in their own non-smoking restaurants. Combined with the lack of eating, the women appeared to be surviving on smoke alone – which is not at all attractive – but might keep the thin. And smoking keeps the population young by killing people sooner.
Fifthly, and this is a sensitive issue, the population of Croatia is probably (I haven’t checked the numbers) suffering from a gender imbalance due to the number of males that were killed in the Balkans War of the early nineties. Were we simply noticing more women than men? Or were there less men meaning that the women had to compete harder in the glamour stakes?
Sixthly, Zagreb is a young, up and coming city. It is one of those cool aspirational places. And cool aspirational places beget cool aspirational people.
Finally, there was a lot of sport in and around Zagreb. Football, volleyball, basketball, water polo, rowing, kayaking, cycling, swimming, running ... the list goes on and on. We saw a lot of fit people, men and women.
Not having our bikes, and still wanting to retain our giant appetites for new foods, we took up walking. 15 kilometres seemed to be the right distance for a good walk. We walked around Lake Juran – the artificial lake hosting the rowing complex. We walked through the hills overlooking Zagreb. We walked through the shops. But mostly we walked just to find somewhere to eat. We walked to the art deco masterpiece that is the Astor Hotel for breakfast. One night we walked to a fabulous restaurant serving beautiful local fair and tasty wines where we were seated on our own private terrace. Until it started raining and we had to join the smokers inside.
There was nothing for it but for me to take the most beautiful girl in Zagreb and whisk her away to the most beautiful natural place in Croatia.
Lake Plevitce is sublime and listed on the UNESCO World Heritage register. It is one of those places where the natural beauty makes you want to stay there for days soaking in the sublimeness (or is it sublimity?). And everyone is taking photos of everything.
We stayed two nights in a little bed and breakfast inside the national park. The second day we walked down into the park. We walked past lakes and waterfalls until we were at a lakeside restaurant serving stodgy local fair. But we didn’t mind. We sat with hundreds of Croatian locals soaking up the atmosphere. We listened to a local marching band playing old and new favourites.
Then we boarded the electric boat for a short ride to the other side of the lake. And we walked through a hundred more waterfalls cascading the clearest water across rocks, underneath the boardwalks and through water plants of various shades of green. We walked past forests with trees leaning over with their boughs to touch the lake. The water was so clear you could see the whole length of 10 metre long trees that had fallen into the water. We walked and walked and still wanted to explore more. The next morning when I woke up I said to Cassy that I would happily spend another day walking along the same paths that we had the previous day.
Lake Plevitce is the busiest national park I have ever visited – but I can understand why. We will return there – hopefully in winter to see the snow blanketing the vivid palette of green and turning the water a different colour.
The longer we stayed in Zagreb the more comfortable I felt discussing this state of affairs with Cassy. And we came up with a number of theories about what we were seeing.
Firstly, we spent most of our time wandering around the old town in Zagreb. This would be a bit like walking through inner city Melbourne and then forming conclusions on the attractiveness of Victorian ladies without visiting Frankston.
Secondly, the Zagreb women mostly have natural long hair. Clearly the beauty industry’s incessant demands that women continuously mess around with the length, colour and style of their hair, usually by artificial means, have not yet penetrated into northern Croatia. (Although we did see some unbelievably wrong hairstyles in Zagreb.)
Thirdly, no-one in Zagreb seemed to eat. Ever. It was almost impossible to find a restaurant. Everywhere we went the public spaces were filled with tables served by waiters from “Caffe Bars”. But the Caffe Bars serve no food. We could walk for half an hour without seeing a restaurant. We concluded that the women clearly weren’t eating anything.
Fourthly, the smoking. Smoking rates in Croatia are very high and people smoke everywhere. In May 2010 new legislation banned smoking indoors in restaurants and bars. By the end of October 2010 the new legislation had been amended to relax these requirements. And everyone seemed to ignore the bans anyway. Chefs smoked in their own non-smoking restaurants. Combined with the lack of eating, the women appeared to be surviving on smoke alone – which is not at all attractive – but might keep the thin. And smoking keeps the population young by killing people sooner.
Fifthly, and this is a sensitive issue, the population of Croatia is probably (I haven’t checked the numbers) suffering from a gender imbalance due to the number of males that were killed in the Balkans War of the early nineties. Were we simply noticing more women than men? Or were there less men meaning that the women had to compete harder in the glamour stakes?
Sixthly, Zagreb is a young, up and coming city. It is one of those cool aspirational places. And cool aspirational places beget cool aspirational people.
Finally, there was a lot of sport in and around Zagreb. Football, volleyball, basketball, water polo, rowing, kayaking, cycling, swimming, running ... the list goes on and on. We saw a lot of fit people, men and women.
Not having our bikes, and still wanting to retain our giant appetites for new foods, we took up walking. 15 kilometres seemed to be the right distance for a good walk. We walked around Lake Juran – the artificial lake hosting the rowing complex. We walked through the hills overlooking Zagreb. We walked through the shops. But mostly we walked just to find somewhere to eat. We walked to the art deco masterpiece that is the Astor Hotel for breakfast. One night we walked to a fabulous restaurant serving beautiful local fair and tasty wines where we were seated on our own private terrace. Until it started raining and we had to join the smokers inside.
There was nothing for it but for me to take the most beautiful girl in Zagreb and whisk her away to the most beautiful natural place in Croatia.
Lake Plevitce is sublime and listed on the UNESCO World Heritage register. It is one of those places where the natural beauty makes you want to stay there for days soaking in the sublimeness (or is it sublimity?). And everyone is taking photos of everything.
We stayed two nights in a little bed and breakfast inside the national park. The second day we walked down into the park. We walked past lakes and waterfalls until we were at a lakeside restaurant serving stodgy local fair. But we didn’t mind. We sat with hundreds of Croatian locals soaking up the atmosphere. We listened to a local marching band playing old and new favourites.
Then we boarded the electric boat for a short ride to the other side of the lake. And we walked through a hundred more waterfalls cascading the clearest water across rocks, underneath the boardwalks and through water plants of various shades of green. We walked past forests with trees leaning over with their boughs to touch the lake. The water was so clear you could see the whole length of 10 metre long trees that had fallen into the water. We walked and walked and still wanted to explore more. The next morning when I woke up I said to Cassy that I would happily spend another day walking along the same paths that we had the previous day.
Lake Plevitce is the busiest national park I have ever visited – but I can understand why. We will return there – hopefully in winter to see the snow blanketing the vivid palette of green and turning the water a different colour.
Cassy's mum Wendy and her partner Ron have a small apartment in the German enclave of Busingen in northern Switzerland. The apartment is conveniently located near Lake Constance and has plenty of storage space in the cellar. We decided to ride light (well for us anyway) and ditch one of the trailers for a dash around the lake. This ride was recommended to me by someone (can't remember who) before we left Australia.
Three countries border the Lake, Switzerland and Austria on the southern side and Germany on the northern side. We headed on the southern side first - planning a short 30km day after a midday start. We stopped in Stein am Rein - a beautiful town on the Rhine River then rolled into Steckborn where we planned to stay the night at a little camping spot shown on her map. I'm not sure what Cassy said to the camp people but they insisted that their campsite waws "not for foreigners" and that we had to go to another town. So we rolled another 20 km to Kreuzlingen where we found a campsite right next door to an impressive lake side restaurant.
The next day we targetted Bregenz - the only Austrian town on the lake - following a tip that it was a beautiful town. We cycled through some spectacular lake side scenery with rolling vine covered hills. We crossed the Austrian border with little fanfare and then headed to our campsite for the night. We walked into the town of Bregenz - circumnavigating the fun park with nausea inducing rides set up on the outskirts of town. We settled on dinner at a nondescript diner and were disappointed to find that in Austria there is smoking inside and outside of restaurants.
Up to this point I was not overly impressed with Bregenz. A lovely town - but most of Europe could be categorised as a lovely town. After dinner we walked to the lake foreshore and found my favourite "space" in the world. The stage for the main theatre in Bregenz is INSIDE the lake. The seats all face the lake and each set is built into and on top of the lake. We arrived at the theatre at around sunset. The main theatre is left open to the public whilst the show is not on (they were still finishing the set build when we were there). So anyone can wander into the "theatre" and sit down to admire the view during the day or evening. Australian insurers would probably freak out at leaving a venue like this open to the public but it is a lovely way to open this spectular venue to the public. The space behind the theatre was the most beautiful art filled square to sit and contemplate the world, chat with friends and expoit the free wifi. See the pictures below. And make sure you visit Bregenz one day.
The next day we rolled on over the Austrian border into Germany and started our way back along the northern side of the lake. We lunched at Lindau - a beautiful small walled island on the lake - before finishing the day in Friedrichshafen. We set up camp for the night and, on seeing the wet weather forecast, decided to reward ourselves with a rest day. We spent the day off doing the tourist things in Friedrichshafen including a visit to the Zeppelin museum. Friedrichshafen was the centre of the Zeppelin world for its brief period of dominance of the skies in the early 20th Century.
After our rest day we continued along the northern side of the lake. It was Ascension Day for the Christians and Fathers Day for the fathers so most of the little towns we rolled through were completely gorgeous AND had some sort of festival. We saw a food and wine festival in Hagnau, a performance by the "Bodensee Shantymen" in Stetten and a medieval fare in Unteruhldingen. We stopped for lunch in Meersburg - a gorgeous old German town host to thousands of tourists on bikes and foot and the occassional car.
We camped that night in Uberlingen and walked into (yet another) spectacular foreshore in a gorgeous town. Somehow we stumbled upon "Weinstein" - a wine bar / restaurant in an old building in one of the town's olders sections. The manager there took a liking to us and walked us through the menu - including letting us taste the barley risotto before we ordered. He chose a riesling for us and we ate two beautiful fish dishes. Dessert was an absolute revelation - I ate nearly an entire apply brandy pizza whilst Cassy marvelled at the pudding.
Cassy had lead the way for the entire trip around the lake after I begrudgingly yet insistently let her take the lead. There were SO MANY cyclists on the lake - and it was not yet peak season. We encountered far more bikes on the roads than cars and pedestrians combined. It was amusing to see the queues of traffic waiting for the boomgates at train crossings dominated by cyclists - with a couple of patient drivers waiting for the peleton to clear before they could cross. Generally, the drivers gave way to cyclists at most intersections, certainly much more than in Australia.
With Cassy leading the way and riding without a trailer our average speed increased by about 50%. Some days we were rolling at well over 20kms an hour. In France we had given ourselves "Tour de France names" Cassy chose "Lars Boom" because of his amusing name and the fact that he is over 190cm tall. I chose Jens Voigt because he is ... Jens Voigt. His basic English and accent combine with his amusing quotes to make for some hilarious YouTube videos. A particular favourite is when he is hurting on the bike and his "legs are hurting and they want to stop but my mind says SHUT UP LEGS!". He also says he enjoys being paid to make other people hurt for a living. A definite character.
On our last day riding back to Busingen, Jens Voigt (with a trailer) decided to launch an attack in the hills on Lars Boom (without a trailer). Jens pulled away momentarily before Lars responded and overtook Jens to reach the summit first! Cassy now has kilometres in the legs and time on the bike. Last time I think about attacking her in the hills!
Three countries border the Lake, Switzerland and Austria on the southern side and Germany on the northern side. We headed on the southern side first - planning a short 30km day after a midday start. We stopped in Stein am Rein - a beautiful town on the Rhine River then rolled into Steckborn where we planned to stay the night at a little camping spot shown on her map. I'm not sure what Cassy said to the camp people but they insisted that their campsite waws "not for foreigners" and that we had to go to another town. So we rolled another 20 km to Kreuzlingen where we found a campsite right next door to an impressive lake side restaurant.
The next day we targetted Bregenz - the only Austrian town on the lake - following a tip that it was a beautiful town. We cycled through some spectacular lake side scenery with rolling vine covered hills. We crossed the Austrian border with little fanfare and then headed to our campsite for the night. We walked into the town of Bregenz - circumnavigating the fun park with nausea inducing rides set up on the outskirts of town. We settled on dinner at a nondescript diner and were disappointed to find that in Austria there is smoking inside and outside of restaurants.
Up to this point I was not overly impressed with Bregenz. A lovely town - but most of Europe could be categorised as a lovely town. After dinner we walked to the lake foreshore and found my favourite "space" in the world. The stage for the main theatre in Bregenz is INSIDE the lake. The seats all face the lake and each set is built into and on top of the lake. We arrived at the theatre at around sunset. The main theatre is left open to the public whilst the show is not on (they were still finishing the set build when we were there). So anyone can wander into the "theatre" and sit down to admire the view during the day or evening. Australian insurers would probably freak out at leaving a venue like this open to the public but it is a lovely way to open this spectular venue to the public. The space behind the theatre was the most beautiful art filled square to sit and contemplate the world, chat with friends and expoit the free wifi. See the pictures below. And make sure you visit Bregenz one day.
The next day we rolled on over the Austrian border into Germany and started our way back along the northern side of the lake. We lunched at Lindau - a beautiful small walled island on the lake - before finishing the day in Friedrichshafen. We set up camp for the night and, on seeing the wet weather forecast, decided to reward ourselves with a rest day. We spent the day off doing the tourist things in Friedrichshafen including a visit to the Zeppelin museum. Friedrichshafen was the centre of the Zeppelin world for its brief period of dominance of the skies in the early 20th Century.
After our rest day we continued along the northern side of the lake. It was Ascension Day for the Christians and Fathers Day for the fathers so most of the little towns we rolled through were completely gorgeous AND had some sort of festival. We saw a food and wine festival in Hagnau, a performance by the "Bodensee Shantymen" in Stetten and a medieval fare in Unteruhldingen. We stopped for lunch in Meersburg - a gorgeous old German town host to thousands of tourists on bikes and foot and the occassional car.
We camped that night in Uberlingen and walked into (yet another) spectacular foreshore in a gorgeous town. Somehow we stumbled upon "Weinstein" - a wine bar / restaurant in an old building in one of the town's olders sections. The manager there took a liking to us and walked us through the menu - including letting us taste the barley risotto before we ordered. He chose a riesling for us and we ate two beautiful fish dishes. Dessert was an absolute revelation - I ate nearly an entire apply brandy pizza whilst Cassy marvelled at the pudding.
Cassy had lead the way for the entire trip around the lake after I begrudgingly yet insistently let her take the lead. There were SO MANY cyclists on the lake - and it was not yet peak season. We encountered far more bikes on the roads than cars and pedestrians combined. It was amusing to see the queues of traffic waiting for the boomgates at train crossings dominated by cyclists - with a couple of patient drivers waiting for the peleton to clear before they could cross. Generally, the drivers gave way to cyclists at most intersections, certainly much more than in Australia.
With Cassy leading the way and riding without a trailer our average speed increased by about 50%. Some days we were rolling at well over 20kms an hour. In France we had given ourselves "Tour de France names" Cassy chose "Lars Boom" because of his amusing name and the fact that he is over 190cm tall. I chose Jens Voigt because he is ... Jens Voigt. His basic English and accent combine with his amusing quotes to make for some hilarious YouTube videos. A particular favourite is when he is hurting on the bike and his "legs are hurting and they want to stop but my mind says SHUT UP LEGS!". He also says he enjoys being paid to make other people hurt for a living. A definite character.
On our last day riding back to Busingen, Jens Voigt (with a trailer) decided to launch an attack in the hills on Lars Boom (without a trailer). Jens pulled away momentarily before Lars responded and overtook Jens to reach the summit first! Cassy now has kilometres in the legs and time on the bike. Last time I think about attacking her in the hills!
I’m hoping Mum doesn’t read this as I’m forbidden to call her a bat anymore, but it’s such a cute (and affectionately intended) nickname, and it rhymes with Zermatt. Who could resist?
Jamie and I spent a few lovely days in Dijon boozing on fine wines and exploring, and then jumped a train via Zurich to meet my Mum and Ron (aka The Bats) at their lovely little alpine Batcave in Busingen. Busingen is actually a German enclave inside Switzerland, near the German border – but really it’s Swiss. Although we’d planned to do the Lake Konstanze ride and then return for Mum’s birthday the following weekend, Mum was very excited to offer to take us to Zermatt – a summer ski resort at the base of the Matterhorn. Again, who could resist?
Zermatt: http://www.zermatt.ch/en/index.cfm
…and some webcams of quaint, snowy Zermatt and surrounding snowy vistas: http://www.zermatt.ch/en/page.cfm/service/webcams
Mum, Ron, Jamie and I boarded the panoramic Glacier Express train to Zermatt and headed up into the snow with great excitement. The Glacier express touts itself as the ‘slowest express train in the world’ and is counted as one of the world’s great train rides: http://www.rhb.ch/Glacier-Express.1675.0.html?&L=4 . It was indeed special. The view permitted by the uninterrupted glass over the train roof is spectacular; the train passes through Switzerland’s Graubünden canton, including the stunning Rhine Gorge. The meandering train ride permits views of ‘St Moritz and the UNESCO World Heritage railway, plus the Landwasser Viaduct, the Rheinschlucht Gorge, the Oberalp Pass, the Furka Tunnel, Zermatt and Matterhorn’. It was very special.
We had a fantastic lunch on the train, and Jamie and I scuttled to the Sky Bar carriage for beers en route to celebrate this stage of the adventure.
We arrived in Zermatt and checked in to our lodge. A bit of exploring and then an ultra cheesy dinner. I’d held out on trying Raclette until Switzerland, so now was the time. At the restaurant, Ron and Mum shared beef tartar and a tomato cheese fondue, while Jamie and I had a cheese fondue, raclette and also the cheese dumplings, baked in cheese. The waitress was horrified and told me this was ‘cheese and cheese and cheese – too much!’ I smiled smugly and told her it was fine, but she was right and everyone felt pretty sick afterwards. The next night we opted for Chinese to make sure no cheese sneaked in.
The next day we headed up to the Klein Matterhorn (the smaller Matterhorn, with views of the big fellow), and Jamie’s first taste of snow. I can’t even describe how much fun it was, and will just let the pictures do the talking.
The Matterhorn museum the next morning was also superb, and I took lots of pictures of the hilarious animal models inside.
The stories of the Matterhorn and its many fallen explorers is fascinating too, especially the ‘Matterhorn disaster’ story of the first ascent/descent: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_ascent_of_the_Matterhorn
The cemetery at Zermatt holds the remains (or not) of those who did not survive their adventures, including many people in their early 20s.
I was much amused (and disgusted) to learn that the early women mountain climbers (19th C) climbed in long, full skirts, and corsets! Apparently there was an early scandal when it was suspected that one woman climber may have in fact swapped her skirt for pants when out of view of the town…and another lady climber was within 100 metres of the summit when gusts of wind forced her to retreat. Her billowing skirts made the final climb impossible. The point is named in her honor. I commend her ladylike values, as I would have nuded up in half a second to get there, but then again I don’t feel a pressing need to climb sheer rock icy faces just because they exist, so who am I to judge?
This is a very interesting blog about the early lady climbers: http://vichist.blogspot.com/2010/10/ladies-on-high-victorian-women.html
Thanks again Mum and Ron for such a fabulous experience (and for graciously letting us stay in and trash up your little Batcave with all our bikes and accessories).
We thought we’d write a little note about our daily life on the roads and on the bikes – more for our own reference and so we can remember things we’ve learned for next time. Yes, at this point we are both still keen for a next time. I’ll revisit this after 6 more weeks camping and riding. This will be a very mundane entry, but perhaps of some interest for anyone planning a cycle trip. We’ve certainly made plenty of mistakes, and we are still learning.
A typical day on the bikes
We get up at about 9am (sort of) and someone hunts out coffees if this is possible. Breakfast is either cereal and UHT milk from our panier ‘pantry’ or we’ll get ‘something’ on the road (something on the road is always pastries). We pack up the camp – deflate the mattresses and pillows (Jamie), pack them into their bags (Jamie), take down tent (C or J) dress in our cycle clothes, sun cream ourselves, and then pack the trailers while checking we’ve not lost anything again (Cassy).
We then check the maps/rout, think about where we might stop for lunch and hit the road…
We generally ride around 20-30klms before we have lunch, but this depends on the path and whether we’re carrying lunch foods or hunting for lunch. Lunch is usually fresh bread, tuna/salmon, cheeses and salad. We may or may not sneak in more pastries. After sufficient time off to gorge and rest our sore rear ends and wrists, we get back on the bikes and start the afternoon cycling.
The afternoon is obviously the balance of klms left to our destination. Often we are not sure exactly where we’ll end up as it again depends on trails, bikes, tiredness and how good the campsites look when we roll past. We only booked accommodation ahead for Paris and Dijon, all other times we simply turn up and hunt out something. It seems to work, although occasionally we’ve had to ride further than expected due to campsites being closed/accom otherwise not available. Both of us refuse to back track, so if we decide not to stop initially, we go on until we find accommodation.
When we arrive at our campsite, we each have our little jobs – Jamie loves to put up the tent, so he does. Whoever is less desperate for a shower inflates the mattresses with the pillow-pumps . Usually we’re starving by this time, so I generally start cooking straight away. I have a little camp stove, one pot and one pan. Our camp dinners vary, and I try to keep us healthy (and full of carbs). We’ve had quite a few pasta dishes with various sauces, as well as salads, fish and other seafood and vegetable dishes. Often we’re more adventurous – and in Tonnere we had grilled prawns, tuna sashimi and an avocado/green salad with blinis. We go out for dinner a fair bit too.
After dinner we might explore our new home town a little if we’re not too tired, or we might just lock the camp up for the night. We lock the wheels of the trailers together, and then lock the zips closed. We lock the bikes and we sleep with them near us so we can intercept any further thieving attempts. We fight over who gets to read what, and then we sleep. And that’s how we roll.
The gory details, if you want them
The bikes and our outfits
We both ride mountain bikes with slicks on them, despite requesting semi slicks. The bikes are great, and the tyres are ok for most terrain but can be slippery on the gravelly paths, hence the frequent falls. Both bikes are 24 speed . My bike is a Trek (this is apparently a cool bike) and Jamie’s is a Giant (this is more a ‘Dad bought it at K-mart bike’ – but Jamie’s much longer and stronger legs need disabling for his sanity during our rides).
We wear normal t-shirts but proper bike shorts/pants which have a chamois padding over all delicate areas. This sort of helps. Neither of us wear anything under our bike pants (you may wonder why I feel I need to include this here – but it is cyclist talk, I know – I’ve been googling). In theory we Vaseline ourselves over the ‘sit bones’ everyday to protect against the shearing downward force of bone on soft tissue. Mostly we forget the vas. I have to endure a sore backside as well as Jamie’s constant cry “Sore ass or sore legs, you choose”. Without meaning to I choose both every day.
We’ve modified our helmets somewhat to offer more sun protection – the days are long and the sun is extremely hot now. Jamie mashed some cut-off cap rims underneath the front of the helmets. We look like bionic ducks. This helped a little, but I was still getting burnt in the face daily. So, we located a rip-off Ikea store and I bought a black mesh curtain (with a tassel). I cable tied it into my helmet, over the cap rim where it now hangs down over my face and neck. I know it looks utterly ridiculous and people stare sometimes, but I’ve decided that I choose to feel like an Arabian spy from the 1930s, and I’ll probably be able to ride faster and more mysteriously now.
Travel/distance/routes – 1500klms and counting
We’ve improved since our early days, and now average about 50klms a day. Our final distance depends a lot on the path conditions and whether we can find the path as well as how we are feeling and where we are headed. We did 74klms the other day and both felt fine at the end. Surprisingly this was on pretty average paths and over many hills. I guess our end distance also depends on other things (what time we start, aches, pains and hangovers among them). We hope to do an 80klm day with the trailers. I am certain we can easily do it if we get on the road early and heavily caffeinated. We are good with caffeinating ourselves, not so good at early starts.
Jamie is a map guru, and has taken it upon himself to struggle through the mess of maps to find our daily routes. To be honest, I don’t know how he manages and maintains sanity. The maps often lack detail/are incorrect, the cycle routes vanish (if they existed at all) and the cycle guides often happily place us on highways and main traffic thoroughfares. I did token map reading/trail finding for our recent Lake Konstance cycle, and even though it was relatively simple, after a few days I wanted to just throw the maps in the lake. I recovered though, and we made it back to Busingen.
I take my helmet off to Jamie for his map reading efforts.
Most days we resolve to leave early the following day – most days we get on the bikes around 11am.
Accommodation
We’ve finally realized hotels are no good for us and are now committed to camping, be it in a campsite or “au savage”. With our large, heavy trailers and bikes that need supervision/garaging, it’s much easier. Our camp bed is very comfortable too – unlike the hotels in our price range. The campsites cost between 7-20 euros a night, and are generally really lovely. We generally ride alongside water courses, so the campsites are set along water. The campsites often have free wi-fi internet access, are clean and they have a variety of amenities such as tennis, swimming pools, little shops and cafes etc. Shared bathrooms are not as bad as I’d feared, although I do find showering adjacent to loud, hairy European men a little weird still. And for some reason European bathrooms rarely have toilet paper…
Our trailers/luggage
We started out with a trailer each for our clothes/toiletries etc, and then shared the camp and general stuff. This soon proved an inefficient method – especially for hotels as it meant we had to lug both heavy awkward trailers upstairs and store them in the invariably tiny rooms. So, for some time now we’ve had a ‘daily’ trailer and a ‘camp’ trailer. The daily trailer has our frequently used clothes, our toiletries and also our backpack in it. This is where we keep our valuables. Jamie tows this trailer (because my toiletry bag weighs so much!). The camp trailer has our tent, mattresses, pillows, one remaining sleeping bag and all the clothes, shoes etc that we don’t use as often – it’s more storage. This configuration works best as we can take one trailer only to our room if we hotel, and if we camp we can set up quickly.
Feeding times/caffeine addictions
I was always a big eater, and the cycling has made us both very hungry very often. We always have breakfast, generally have a snack mid-morning before lunch, have a big lunch and then late dinner at the campsite. We always have stop at the first town we hit for a proper coffee and sometimes a visit to the boulangerie for breakfast. AND we sometimes have a mid-arvo coffee or diet coke hit too. It helps.
Tantrums
We’ve managed ok on this front – both of us have had our moments. I swear a lot and I find this helps. I always delude myself that children within earshot can’t understand English. Luckily our tantrums usually fall at different times, and so one can laugh at the other until the tantrum passes. Although we spent almost every waking moment together, we've not yet got too sick of each other...
When we need a day off the bikes, we have a rest day and explore our town and eat, drink and be merry.
There’s lots of merry.
After a day off the bikes exploring Epoisses it was time to head out onto the canal paths again. From Montbard to Dijon we faced just over 120 kilometres of canal side riding over two days.
We had met a new French friend at the campsite in Montbard – a fellow cyclist Benoit. Whilst Cassy googled random stuff and Skyped her family, Benoit and I shared a couple of beers and he patiently conversed with my broken French. Which made me feel like the real French speaking man about France.
The next day as we pedalled up the canal we passed Benoit as he snoozed by the side of the path over his lunch. Then he passed us as we ate our lunch. We met him again just before we all cycled into Pouilly en Auxois together. Over the course of our day crossing paths with Benoit we covered 62 kilometres and ascended over 50 ecluses – gaining over 100 metres in elevation. The path was upwards all day without respite on a very warm day.
The three of us arrived exhausted in Pouilly en Auxois and we headed to the tourist information to find directions to the campsite. We were informed it was closed. A tough decision followed – 8 more kilometres to the next campsite or a night in a cheap hotel. Clearly the French have more staying power (although I think economics may have also been a factor ) because Cassy and I booked ourselves into a hotel whilst Benoit rode off into the sunset!
Having spent around 10 days in campsites since our last hotel, Cassy and I delighted ourselves with the simple pleasures of budget style indoor accommodation. And we dressed ourselves up for a great night out at Courtepaille – a French chain of restaurants that put Australian restaurant chains to shame.
The next day we were faced with a much easier task – the downhill ride to Dijon. Soon after starting the ride we encountered the engineering marvel of the Canal de Bourgogne tunnel. This tunnel beneath Pouilly en Auxois travels over three kilometres underground before turning downwards to Dijon. We rode over the top of the hill and rejoined the canal at the tunnel exit on the other side.
The rest of the day was a dream with the path downhill and the wind behind. Cassy lead the charge and we barrelled along the bike path into Dijon at speeds over 25 kilometres an hour. There was a minor drama when I almost took out a lady’s face trying to navigate a temporary pedestrian bridge on the outskirts of Dijon. But soon enough we were checked into our lovely hotel and searching (unsuccessfully) for a Laundromat and (slightly more successfully) for dinner.
Friday was another highlight of the trip (so many highlights – I am tempted to use the word “fantastic” again). We somehow managed to book ourselves on a wine and cheese tasting tour where we were the only guests. Our guide, Elohim, was a former winemaker and he gave us real insight into the winemaking process, the famous hillside stretching south of Dijon that hosts the Cote D’Or and Cote de Beaune and the peculiarities of Dijon. Do one of his tours if you are every in Burgundy - http://www.alterandgo.fr/
Elohim also had some hilarious pearls of wisdom:
· “There are two ways of making wine in Bourgogne – the ‘right way’ and the ‘other way’”
· “Once someone has learnt how to make ‘good wine’ they will make it for life. The same for bad wine.”
· “The vines are arranged on the hillside like they are seated in a cinema – they all have the same view of the sun.”
Pinot Noir and Chardonnay are the well known AOC grape varieties in Burgundy. Our good man took us to three cellars where we tasted some outstanding examples of these wines. He also told us about Gammay and Alligote which are lesser known AOC grape varieties in Burgundy. We finished our tour with some good wine in our hands – as well as some fine cheese. The tour included a visit to Fromagerie Gaugry so that Cassy could have another perspective on epoisses – including viewing platforms of the cheese factory.
An important aspect of a long adventure like this is that we are spending every waking and sleeping moment with each other. It was time to pursue our individual interests for the day. Cassy had her eye on some shopping in Dijon whilst I wanted to watch Dijon FCO (Football Cote D’Or) attempt to win promotion to the top league in French football. The match was a cracker – a full house watching Dijon coming from a goal behind to secure promotion. The only problem for me was that it was played the night before. Never trust an English language website to find the times for French football fixtures. With time to kill I opted for a four hour walk through the hills surrounding Dijon. I needed to work up an appetite.
Cassy had booked us into Chapeau Rouge for my birthday dinner. My real “no holds barred” innovative French cuisine and Burgundy wine birthday dinner. The evening was outstanding.
We started with an appertif of kir – a local drink combining blackcurrant liqueur and alligote. This was accompanied by two sets of four appertisers including a snail spring roll.
We immersed ourselves in a degustation of ten dishes sampling local seafood and delicacies washed done with various crus of Cote de Beaune Chardonnnay. Dish after dish of perfectly plated food – a sushi roll in a glass with a gel meniscus, perfectly cooked fish melting in rich sauces, soft shell crab and prawns fighting for attention on the one plate.
The pre-dessert was a foam of epoisses covering sweet grape tomatoes and epoisses. At that point I was so taken with that particular dish I said I would have paid the price of the whole meal just for that course. But I’m glad I didn’t, because dessert was similarly fabulous. We rolled home sated in so many ways.
We had met a new French friend at the campsite in Montbard – a fellow cyclist Benoit. Whilst Cassy googled random stuff and Skyped her family, Benoit and I shared a couple of beers and he patiently conversed with my broken French. Which made me feel like the real French speaking man about France.
The next day as we pedalled up the canal we passed Benoit as he snoozed by the side of the path over his lunch. Then he passed us as we ate our lunch. We met him again just before we all cycled into Pouilly en Auxois together. Over the course of our day crossing paths with Benoit we covered 62 kilometres and ascended over 50 ecluses – gaining over 100 metres in elevation. The path was upwards all day without respite on a very warm day.
The three of us arrived exhausted in Pouilly en Auxois and we headed to the tourist information to find directions to the campsite. We were informed it was closed. A tough decision followed – 8 more kilometres to the next campsite or a night in a cheap hotel. Clearly the French have more staying power (although I think economics may have also been a factor ) because Cassy and I booked ourselves into a hotel whilst Benoit rode off into the sunset!
Having spent around 10 days in campsites since our last hotel, Cassy and I delighted ourselves with the simple pleasures of budget style indoor accommodation. And we dressed ourselves up for a great night out at Courtepaille – a French chain of restaurants that put Australian restaurant chains to shame.
The next day we were faced with a much easier task – the downhill ride to Dijon. Soon after starting the ride we encountered the engineering marvel of the Canal de Bourgogne tunnel. This tunnel beneath Pouilly en Auxois travels over three kilometres underground before turning downwards to Dijon. We rode over the top of the hill and rejoined the canal at the tunnel exit on the other side.
The rest of the day was a dream with the path downhill and the wind behind. Cassy lead the charge and we barrelled along the bike path into Dijon at speeds over 25 kilometres an hour. There was a minor drama when I almost took out a lady’s face trying to navigate a temporary pedestrian bridge on the outskirts of Dijon. But soon enough we were checked into our lovely hotel and searching (unsuccessfully) for a Laundromat and (slightly more successfully) for dinner.
Friday was another highlight of the trip (so many highlights – I am tempted to use the word “fantastic” again). We somehow managed to book ourselves on a wine and cheese tasting tour where we were the only guests. Our guide, Elohim, was a former winemaker and he gave us real insight into the winemaking process, the famous hillside stretching south of Dijon that hosts the Cote D’Or and Cote de Beaune and the peculiarities of Dijon. Do one of his tours if you are every in Burgundy - http://www.alterandgo.fr/
Elohim also had some hilarious pearls of wisdom:
· “There are two ways of making wine in Bourgogne – the ‘right way’ and the ‘other way’”
· “Once someone has learnt how to make ‘good wine’ they will make it for life. The same for bad wine.”
· “The vines are arranged on the hillside like they are seated in a cinema – they all have the same view of the sun.”
Pinot Noir and Chardonnay are the well known AOC grape varieties in Burgundy. Our good man took us to three cellars where we tasted some outstanding examples of these wines. He also told us about Gammay and Alligote which are lesser known AOC grape varieties in Burgundy. We finished our tour with some good wine in our hands – as well as some fine cheese. The tour included a visit to Fromagerie Gaugry so that Cassy could have another perspective on epoisses – including viewing platforms of the cheese factory.
An important aspect of a long adventure like this is that we are spending every waking and sleeping moment with each other. It was time to pursue our individual interests for the day. Cassy had her eye on some shopping in Dijon whilst I wanted to watch Dijon FCO (Football Cote D’Or) attempt to win promotion to the top league in French football. The match was a cracker – a full house watching Dijon coming from a goal behind to secure promotion. The only problem for me was that it was played the night before. Never trust an English language website to find the times for French football fixtures. With time to kill I opted for a four hour walk through the hills surrounding Dijon. I needed to work up an appetite.
Cassy had booked us into Chapeau Rouge for my birthday dinner. My real “no holds barred” innovative French cuisine and Burgundy wine birthday dinner. The evening was outstanding.
We started with an appertif of kir – a local drink combining blackcurrant liqueur and alligote. This was accompanied by two sets of four appertisers including a snail spring roll.
We immersed ourselves in a degustation of ten dishes sampling local seafood and delicacies washed done with various crus of Cote de Beaune Chardonnnay. Dish after dish of perfectly plated food – a sushi roll in a glass with a gel meniscus, perfectly cooked fish melting in rich sauces, soft shell crab and prawns fighting for attention on the one plate.
The pre-dessert was a foam of epoisses covering sweet grape tomatoes and epoisses. At that point I was so taken with that particular dish I said I would have paid the price of the whole meal just for that course. But I’m glad I didn’t, because dessert was similarly fabulous. We rolled home sated in so many ways.
(Cheese raptures ahead)
This blurry little post comes the morning after our second attempt at Jamie’s birthday dinner. A far more successful birthday dinner was had than the flaming affair of Nemours at the Michelin starred Chapeau Rouge http://www.chapeau-rouge.fr/restaurant/home.htm. But, more about that some other time. ..I’m typing on the TGV train from Dijon. Today we leave France and head to Switzerland/Germany (Busingen) to visit my mother and see the Matterhorn. More about that later too. Today I will be writing an overdue post about love.
My love for Epoisses began when my good friend Kadir smuggled an Epoisses back to Derby with him from a trip to Melbourne. The pungent little cheese had flown from its namesake town in France, all the way to Melbourne, and then been carefully transported all the way to WA’s north – safely encased in its signature wooden box. When it reached its new home, Jamie and I savoured it over several days. We ate tiny pieces and we smelled the rich cheesy smell before each bite. A great love was born then, and I feel it will always endure. One lifelong cheese lover had found her perfect match.
The famous gourmand/epicurean Brillat-Savarin described Epoisses as ‘the king of cheeses’ (this quote is everywhere around France.). I bow down to my ruler. It’s very hard to describe tastes, but Epoisses is really not to be missed. It is firm, extremely strong and flavoursome, meaty, soft…the paste can be a mix of gooey liquid and chalky centre – each sublime. I prefer it when it’s gooey all the way through.
Epoisses is a strong (stinky) unpasturised (usually) soft, washed rind cheese, made only in the Epoisses region of the Cote D’or department in Burgundy, France. It is believed to have been created by Cistercian monks at the start of the 16th Century, washed many times during its aging process in the local Marc de Bourgogne brandy. Those naughty monks and their brandy... The cheese recipe was handed down and produced for hundreds of years, only to die out a little after the second world war (poor prioritising of the diminished post-war workforce, I say). In 1956 this fabulous cheese was revived by Robert and Simon Bertaut, who started the Bertaut Fromagerie and now produce all fermier (farm) Epoisses cheese.
Bertaut Epoisses is my favourite of the Epoisses, and this is where Jamie kindly insisted I visit to meet my (cheese) maker.
Epoisses generally: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89poisses_de_Bourgogne
When Jamie and I arrived in Montbard, we were close to the source of my affection - the town of Epoisses was only 48klms away. But to get to Epoisses from Montbard was either a long tricky day ride on roads over hills, or…a pleasant journey in a hire car. We chose wisely and headed to Epoisses in our borrowed black Opal. Driving on the right, seated on the left while changing gears with my left hand was challenging, but I stayed focused on the cheese and we arrived safely.
The town of Epoisses is charming, in the style of many charming European towns: http://www.chateaudepoisses.com/ . We arrived just before lunch time, and the Bertaut cheese factory opened at 3pm. Perfect! We explored the grandiose Epoisses castle (complete with swampy moat and ornate spiked gates), and then headed to the Pomme D’Or ('apple of gold') pub for lunch. We opted for the Epoisses lunch, and we were richly rewarded. For our entrée, Jamie had the roti espice bread…with Epoisses. Little triangles of the delicious, rich, sweet Burgundian spiced bread, toasted with Epoisses chunks melted to brown, crisped perfection on top. Epoisses is a soft cheese, but the paste is firm enough that it melts solidly and retains its form. Jamie was very impressed with his entrée and decided this was the best toastie he’d ever had. It was delicious. I had the Epoisses millefeuille, which was also superb – soft melty gooey Epoisses encased in crisp buttery pastry. So good.
Our main (which had been specially prepared to cater to our pescatorian preference) was simply baked white fish, in a delicate herbed butter with steamed wild rice and a medley of peppers in buttery sauce. Simple and delicious rustic country fare, accompanied by crusty bread and a bottle of crisp local Chablis.
To finish, of course, we had assiette fromage – cheese plates. The cheese plates had large chunks of Epoisses as well as its cousins – Saumatrin and , from nearby Bertaut. The cheeses were partbered with a few walnuts and some toasted pine nuts, and the same crusty country bread. Sublime.
The post-lunch visit to Bertaut fromagerie was fabulous too – although the factory does not open to visitors, so we had to content ourselves with browsing and purchasing in the shop. Of course we took home some cheesy friends…
I could bang on all day about these cheeses, but I suppose I should stop.
I thoroughly recommend Epoisses to all. If you can’t find it in your local cheese importer – it is available from:
http://www.rhcl.com.au/index.php/cheese_room_view/epoisses-berthaut-250g-cut-piece.html
This blurry little post comes the morning after our second attempt at Jamie’s birthday dinner. A far more successful birthday dinner was had than the flaming affair of Nemours at the Michelin starred Chapeau Rouge http://www.chapeau-rouge.fr/restaurant/home.htm. But, more about that some other time. ..I’m typing on the TGV train from Dijon. Today we leave France and head to Switzerland/Germany (Busingen) to visit my mother and see the Matterhorn. More about that later too. Today I will be writing an overdue post about love.
My love for Epoisses began when my good friend Kadir smuggled an Epoisses back to Derby with him from a trip to Melbourne. The pungent little cheese had flown from its namesake town in France, all the way to Melbourne, and then been carefully transported all the way to WA’s north – safely encased in its signature wooden box. When it reached its new home, Jamie and I savoured it over several days. We ate tiny pieces and we smelled the rich cheesy smell before each bite. A great love was born then, and I feel it will always endure. One lifelong cheese lover had found her perfect match.
The famous gourmand/epicurean Brillat-Savarin described Epoisses as ‘the king of cheeses’ (this quote is everywhere around France.). I bow down to my ruler. It’s very hard to describe tastes, but Epoisses is really not to be missed. It is firm, extremely strong and flavoursome, meaty, soft…the paste can be a mix of gooey liquid and chalky centre – each sublime. I prefer it when it’s gooey all the way through.
Epoisses is a strong (stinky) unpasturised (usually) soft, washed rind cheese, made only in the Epoisses region of the Cote D’or department in Burgundy, France. It is believed to have been created by Cistercian monks at the start of the 16th Century, washed many times during its aging process in the local Marc de Bourgogne brandy. Those naughty monks and their brandy... The cheese recipe was handed down and produced for hundreds of years, only to die out a little after the second world war (poor prioritising of the diminished post-war workforce, I say). In 1956 this fabulous cheese was revived by Robert and Simon Bertaut, who started the Bertaut Fromagerie and now produce all fermier (farm) Epoisses cheese.
Bertaut Epoisses is my favourite of the Epoisses, and this is where Jamie kindly insisted I visit to meet my (cheese) maker.
Epoisses generally: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89poisses_de_Bourgogne
When Jamie and I arrived in Montbard, we were close to the source of my affection - the town of Epoisses was only 48klms away. But to get to Epoisses from Montbard was either a long tricky day ride on roads over hills, or…a pleasant journey in a hire car. We chose wisely and headed to Epoisses in our borrowed black Opal. Driving on the right, seated on the left while changing gears with my left hand was challenging, but I stayed focused on the cheese and we arrived safely.
The town of Epoisses is charming, in the style of many charming European towns: http://www.chateaudepoisses.com/ . We arrived just before lunch time, and the Bertaut cheese factory opened at 3pm. Perfect! We explored the grandiose Epoisses castle (complete with swampy moat and ornate spiked gates), and then headed to the Pomme D’Or ('apple of gold') pub for lunch. We opted for the Epoisses lunch, and we were richly rewarded. For our entrée, Jamie had the roti espice bread…with Epoisses. Little triangles of the delicious, rich, sweet Burgundian spiced bread, toasted with Epoisses chunks melted to brown, crisped perfection on top. Epoisses is a soft cheese, but the paste is firm enough that it melts solidly and retains its form. Jamie was very impressed with his entrée and decided this was the best toastie he’d ever had. It was delicious. I had the Epoisses millefeuille, which was also superb – soft melty gooey Epoisses encased in crisp buttery pastry. So good.
Our main (which had been specially prepared to cater to our pescatorian preference) was simply baked white fish, in a delicate herbed butter with steamed wild rice and a medley of peppers in buttery sauce. Simple and delicious rustic country fare, accompanied by crusty bread and a bottle of crisp local Chablis.
To finish, of course, we had assiette fromage – cheese plates. The cheese plates had large chunks of Epoisses as well as its cousins – Saumatrin and , from nearby Bertaut. The cheeses were partbered with a few walnuts and some toasted pine nuts, and the same crusty country bread. Sublime.
The post-lunch visit to Bertaut fromagerie was fabulous too – although the factory does not open to visitors, so we had to content ourselves with browsing and purchasing in the shop. Of course we took home some cheesy friends…
I could bang on all day about these cheeses, but I suppose I should stop.
I thoroughly recommend Epoisses to all. If you can’t find it in your local cheese importer – it is available from:
http://www.rhcl.com.au/index.php/cheese_room_view/epoisses-berthaut-250g-cut-piece.html
After 337 kilometres in 8 days we decided it was time for a day off. Two of those days were meant to be rest days. Instead the first “rest day” was 15 kms through the streets of Paris from the bike shop to the hotel (not recommended) and the second was 9 kilometres the day after my birthday (also not recommended).
More precisely, Cassy decided it was time for a rest day. Something about not wanting the holiday to be a boot camp – I forget the details. We had been glad to be back riding next to a canal, after days spent navigating busy and slightly less busy roads, until the canal trail turned into single track through shoulder high grass. These are not pleasant riding conditions with our trailers which prompted Cassy’s “boot camp” comment. So we spent a wonderful day exploring Tonnerre, a little town of 6500 people on the Canal de Burgundy.
Tonnerre is famous for the Hotel Dieu – one of the first hospitals for the poor which was built in the 13th Century. We didn’t take the tour because it was closing for lunch when we arrived. Everything closes for lunch in France; bizarrely even the lunch bars.
Tonnerre is also famous for the Fosse Dionne – France’s second deepest water source. We didn’t visit that either because ... well ... this is a little harder to explain.
We both saw the tourist sign pointing to the Fosse Dionne. And we both thought the words sounded vaguely familiar – perhaps it was the studio of a vaguely famous artist in residence in France. Later on we realised that we were thinking of Dianne Fossy – the lady who lived with gorillas in the mist. We have recently been reading about her in Dr Saks’book because Dianne Foss has prosopagnosia which is an inability to recognise human faces. This is a common affliction. Experts speculate that the ability to recognise faces may be like IQ and spread along a bell curve. People at the top end of the bell curve live fabulous social lives have many friends and become social networking consultants. People at the bottom end struggle to recognise their close friends and family. They develop other mechanisms for recognising people; relying a lot on circumstance and environment. I believe that I fall into the bottom half of the facial recognition bell curve. If you ever bump into me in the street and I seem a little astounded that you are talking to me – now you know why. I digress.... We never quite made it to the Fosse Dionne.
However, we were directed to a little cafe opposite the tourist bureau which serves tasting plates of local fare. We ordered one each and salivated over gougere (cheesy croissanty buns), espice bread, two types of cheese, local escargot paste, cheese stuffed mushrooms and local wine. We were so impressed that we went straight inside and bought a bottle of chilled rosé wine and some more of the local delicacies. We returned to the little river in front of our campsite and whiled away our time watching water cascade over the small man-made dam wall. We ate baguette and gougere and cheese and escargots and drank wine and generally gorged on the finest of local delicacies.
After 10 minutes of watching the water flow over the dam and cascade down the sloping rock wall on the other side we saw small fish trying to leap into the cascading water. Cassy and I spent a good half hour sipping our wine and debating whether big fish or small fish could swim upstream more easily. We discussed strength to weight ratios, ability to leap long distances etc. A bet was made. We then examined the dam wall more closely and discovered tiny little fish swimming up along the rock wall against the fast flowing water. The result of that discovery was twofold. I am now the proud owner of our entire (dwindling) asset pool. And we subverted natural selection by catching some of the cuter looking fish at the bottom of the dam and tossing them up over the dam wall. Good times.
The next day we decided on another rest day in Tonnerre - although the effects of the picnic the day before were not the entire reason for our extended layover. We needed to go shopping. France has three types of supermarket. There is the deli like “alimentation”, the self explanatory “supermarche” and the grandiose “hypermarche.” The hypermarche is the Bunnings of supermarkets. Think gourmet deli, bottle shop, Target, supermarket, toy store, sports shop under the one roof – and on steroids. Three aisles of cheese. A whole side of the store dedicated to bakery goods and patisseries. We had been compiling a shopping list and after a half hour walk we arrived at E.Leclerc – hypermarche.
After the walk, and the general effects of 8 days cycling, we were starving. We roamed the aisles like food zombies collecting things to eat, things to wear and various other camping requisites. As our hunger set in further we realised that we needed to eat fast. We indulged our desire for another picnic by locating some patisserie goods, cheese and soft drinks. Our little trolley cart full we headed to the checkout only to be foiled by our poor banking habits and the refusal of the Mr E.Leclerc to accept any of our dozen AmEx cards. A harried ten minutes passed as we tried card after card at the checkout then again at the ATM. Cassy was on the mobile to Westpac when I remembered our emergency credit card was in the backpack. This was an emergency. After the second attempt the pin code worked and we were free. Cassy celebrated the handing over of the receipt by opening a packet of onion and vinegar chips at the checkout. As I swallowed that first chip, I cried “victory” in French to the checkout chick who looked suitably bemused.
We were SOO hungry there was nothing for it but to tear into our picnic on the bench seat in the foyer room to E.Leclerc. The foyer room had a display of fake leather jackets on offer at crazy fake leather prices. So we ate our goat’s cheese flat bread, reduced price brie and four types of freshly baked patisserie cakes in the one box for 2.30 Euros washed down with Coke Zeros. This was a stark contrast to the setting and delicacy of the previous day’s picnic. But still a picnic – of sorts.
Paris Reunion
After my few hurried days in Perth recently (for the nuptials of my very dear friends Deda and Stephen), I ate my way through the Perth, Singapore and London airport lounges, until Jamie met me at Charles de Gaul with flowers (not the ailing Tour de Romandie bunch – these were waiting at the hotel). After hellos and catch ups (and more feeding) – I slept from about 3pm until the next morning.
Jamie had promised me a proper rest day in Paris, to get over the jet lag/sleepiness my 30 hour return journey may have caused. He delivered a pretty unrestful rest day. We started by walking around, frantically hunting out a map shop. Once found, it sadly disappointed my map loving beau and precipitated more map shop hunting. We continued to 'rest' by returning to the bike shop we'd left our velos at, and riding/walking/dragging our retrieved bikes 15klms through central Paris. Avoiding crazy French drivers, pedestrians and their entitled hounds all the way back to our hotel on the outskirts of Paris while very tired (and needing to go to the toilet) was not so restful.
However, Thursday rolled around and we were both well rested as we set out for the forest south of Paris on the start of our route to Dijon. We managed 40klms only on our first day back on the bikes – due to a late start and the frustrating hours it takes to get out of a large city. I had two falls – once I wrapped my trailer around the front of a van parked into the street, and so stacked it into the oncoming traffic (no injury). The second time I (again) rolled my trailer on a kerb and fell off - to the amusment of some smarmy van driver, who took it upon himself to laugh out his stupid smarmy van window and shout something at me in French. He was lucky I didn’t understand him and that I don’t know many French swear words. Merde!
Jamie and I camped out in the Park de Boef (Yes – Park of Beef!) the first night. It was our first night camping in the wild (au savage...) and a large animal/serial killer close to our tent terrorised us during the night. We were pretty sure (in the cold sane light of morning) it was a deer, but I had Blair Witch flashbacks and we spent a few uncomfortable moments scaring each other, as Bambi pranced around nearby.
The next day, riding conditions being superb, we managed 66klms - our top day so far. This was quite a triumph given we’d arrived in Blandy about 4pm and had a beer to celebrate the end of a day’s riding. After chatting with the barmaid, we sadly realised our intended (only) campsite was closed and so then had to ride another 23klms onto La Rochette. We set up camp, and were soon indulging in a fantastic Brie de Meau topped pizza with beer. And then cider, and then more beer - as we sat on the bank of the Seine watching the French folk drive home from work on the opposite bank. All was very well in our world.
Random Paris:
I saw a trendy middle aged lady dragging her shaggy little dog along on an artfully knotted floral pashmina. Only in Paris…
Jamie’s Birthday
So, this didn’t go quite as planned.
Probably because there was not really a plan. I made a few plans (in my mind), and had some far-fetched ideas – but I didn’t know where we’d actually be until the day before and so forward planning was challenging. In my mind, I would cook Jamie a delightful birthday camp breakfast of oeuffs, we’d ride a little way on smooth downhill bike paths, picnic on the banks of the Seine, cruise into a delightful village where we would eat at a Michelin-starred restaurant and then stay in a fancy hotel where all the staff would sing ‘happy birthday’ to him. The birthday would be a tremendous success and Jamie would feel very special and fussed over.
The day began sans cooking because our new camp gas did not fit our stove. Epic fail from the outset as I’d forgotten Jamie’s lifelong tradition of cocoa pops for bithday breakfast and not brought any with me from Aus. I obtained some sub-standard pastries (ridiculously no boulangerie was available on this of all days). For the first time ever I let Jamie eat three while I had one. Although we’d left ourselves only a pleasant 35 klms to ride on Jamie’s birthday, this somehow turned into 45klms and the conditions were horrible – we had the full complement of being lost, no cycle path, crazy traffic, headwinds, (MASSIVE) and frequent hills, gravel, sand and being lost again. It was pretty horrible and we soon had sore backsides and sore wrists. We arrived in Nemours about 4pm. We’d had no lunch. By this time I had severe hunger psychosis from being too generous with the breakfasts, but was trying very hard to keep it together for the sake of the birthday. Trying to keep it together made the psychosis worse. After stalking around the town and deciding we hated it (I won’t name an equivalent town – but think of any trashy bogan mecca where youth skulk around feigning boredom – the males alll look like they want to punch someone, females all look like they’re soliciting/chasing a pregnancy - it’s that town, sorry Nemours), Jamie found a truly delicious lunch which eased our pain and brought back some festivity. Finding a hotel was also tedious, but we made it in the end….our hopes were raised.
To be dashed.
Dinner was another matter – I frantically searched online for something suitable, and found a few potentials in nearby Fontainbleu. It was taking a while to get reservations, but, still hopeful I went to book a cab. No cabs. ‘Nemour’s a small town, they all go to work in Paris’. Fantastic. We now had Japanese, Chinese, a French pub and two franchise carnivore grills to choose from for the birthday dinner. I coerced Jamie into the French place, which seemed least offensive. We overdressed ridiculously (each in our only wrinkly 'going out' outfit) and popped some champers in the room (ultra bublly after being hidden in our trailers since Heathrow duty free). Dinner wasn’t as bad as it could have been (or as good). I had babelfished a French request for candles in Jamie’s café gourmand. When his little flaming desert came out Jamie was so overcome with emotion he could only manage to tell me I was “So naff”. Whatever. ‘So naff’ is so 90s, old man. We had fun. We got boozy. We returned to the hotel and continued to celebrate with birthday presents and more candles, including a tacky (naff?) little plastic number to represent Jamie’s chronological achievement. This was well and good until the morning when we blearily realised through our hangovers that the birthday candles had created a festive black smokey mark up the hotel wall, almost to the ceiling, and burned right through the wooden headboard. I was hungover enough to think that a wet towel, pocket knife, masking tape and some makeup would cover/repair the damage. We sneaked off, collecting and destroying all evidence of burning - including the lonely plastic number 3 whose partner had melted away.
We’ve not heard anything yet, but I guess now we’re officially on the run from the law. Or just from a moderately budget hotel chain that shall remain nameless. We’ll be redoing Jamie's birthday dinner at the first Michelin restaurant we come across but probably won’t redo the candles.
Note on photos:
Since I returned to France, I read and Jamie finished reading Alain De Botton’s ‘Art of Travel’ (thanks Stef for the loan!). Ridiculously good book – made us both feel fine about despising Paris. Anyway, the point is – there are no photos for the moment, and we feel ok about that too. Photos can be artificial attempts to capture the moment, apparently. Really we just forgot to take any. Anyway, the actual point is – we’re determined to be mindful philosophical travellers and not just snap-happy tourists, so – photos from now will be well thought out attempts to capture a moment, not mindless holiday snaps – although I think these still have their place. We may also follow Botton’s advice and paint ‘word pictures’ of our adventures. We’ll see.
Au ‘voir!
After my few hurried days in Perth recently (for the nuptials of my very dear friends Deda and Stephen), I ate my way through the Perth, Singapore and London airport lounges, until Jamie met me at Charles de Gaul with flowers (not the ailing Tour de Romandie bunch – these were waiting at the hotel). After hellos and catch ups (and more feeding) – I slept from about 3pm until the next morning.
Jamie had promised me a proper rest day in Paris, to get over the jet lag/sleepiness my 30 hour return journey may have caused. He delivered a pretty unrestful rest day. We started by walking around, frantically hunting out a map shop. Once found, it sadly disappointed my map loving beau and precipitated more map shop hunting. We continued to 'rest' by returning to the bike shop we'd left our velos at, and riding/walking/dragging our retrieved bikes 15klms through central Paris. Avoiding crazy French drivers, pedestrians and their entitled hounds all the way back to our hotel on the outskirts of Paris while very tired (and needing to go to the toilet) was not so restful.
However, Thursday rolled around and we were both well rested as we set out for the forest south of Paris on the start of our route to Dijon. We managed 40klms only on our first day back on the bikes – due to a late start and the frustrating hours it takes to get out of a large city. I had two falls – once I wrapped my trailer around the front of a van parked into the street, and so stacked it into the oncoming traffic (no injury). The second time I (again) rolled my trailer on a kerb and fell off - to the amusment of some smarmy van driver, who took it upon himself to laugh out his stupid smarmy van window and shout something at me in French. He was lucky I didn’t understand him and that I don’t know many French swear words. Merde!
Jamie and I camped out in the Park de Boef (Yes – Park of Beef!) the first night. It was our first night camping in the wild (au savage...) and a large animal/serial killer close to our tent terrorised us during the night. We were pretty sure (in the cold sane light of morning) it was a deer, but I had Blair Witch flashbacks and we spent a few uncomfortable moments scaring each other, as Bambi pranced around nearby.
The next day, riding conditions being superb, we managed 66klms - our top day so far. This was quite a triumph given we’d arrived in Blandy about 4pm and had a beer to celebrate the end of a day’s riding. After chatting with the barmaid, we sadly realised our intended (only) campsite was closed and so then had to ride another 23klms onto La Rochette. We set up camp, and were soon indulging in a fantastic Brie de Meau topped pizza with beer. And then cider, and then more beer - as we sat on the bank of the Seine watching the French folk drive home from work on the opposite bank. All was very well in our world.
Random Paris:
I saw a trendy middle aged lady dragging her shaggy little dog along on an artfully knotted floral pashmina. Only in Paris…
Jamie’s Birthday
So, this didn’t go quite as planned.
Probably because there was not really a plan. I made a few plans (in my mind), and had some far-fetched ideas – but I didn’t know where we’d actually be until the day before and so forward planning was challenging. In my mind, I would cook Jamie a delightful birthday camp breakfast of oeuffs, we’d ride a little way on smooth downhill bike paths, picnic on the banks of the Seine, cruise into a delightful village where we would eat at a Michelin-starred restaurant and then stay in a fancy hotel where all the staff would sing ‘happy birthday’ to him. The birthday would be a tremendous success and Jamie would feel very special and fussed over.
The day began sans cooking because our new camp gas did not fit our stove. Epic fail from the outset as I’d forgotten Jamie’s lifelong tradition of cocoa pops for bithday breakfast and not brought any with me from Aus. I obtained some sub-standard pastries (ridiculously no boulangerie was available on this of all days). For the first time ever I let Jamie eat three while I had one. Although we’d left ourselves only a pleasant 35 klms to ride on Jamie’s birthday, this somehow turned into 45klms and the conditions were horrible – we had the full complement of being lost, no cycle path, crazy traffic, headwinds, (MASSIVE) and frequent hills, gravel, sand and being lost again. It was pretty horrible and we soon had sore backsides and sore wrists. We arrived in Nemours about 4pm. We’d had no lunch. By this time I had severe hunger psychosis from being too generous with the breakfasts, but was trying very hard to keep it together for the sake of the birthday. Trying to keep it together made the psychosis worse. After stalking around the town and deciding we hated it (I won’t name an equivalent town – but think of any trashy bogan mecca where youth skulk around feigning boredom – the males alll look like they want to punch someone, females all look like they’re soliciting/chasing a pregnancy - it’s that town, sorry Nemours), Jamie found a truly delicious lunch which eased our pain and brought back some festivity. Finding a hotel was also tedious, but we made it in the end….our hopes were raised.
To be dashed.
Dinner was another matter – I frantically searched online for something suitable, and found a few potentials in nearby Fontainbleu. It was taking a while to get reservations, but, still hopeful I went to book a cab. No cabs. ‘Nemour’s a small town, they all go to work in Paris’. Fantastic. We now had Japanese, Chinese, a French pub and two franchise carnivore grills to choose from for the birthday dinner. I coerced Jamie into the French place, which seemed least offensive. We overdressed ridiculously (each in our only wrinkly 'going out' outfit) and popped some champers in the room (ultra bublly after being hidden in our trailers since Heathrow duty free). Dinner wasn’t as bad as it could have been (or as good). I had babelfished a French request for candles in Jamie’s café gourmand. When his little flaming desert came out Jamie was so overcome with emotion he could only manage to tell me I was “So naff”. Whatever. ‘So naff’ is so 90s, old man. We had fun. We got boozy. We returned to the hotel and continued to celebrate with birthday presents and more candles, including a tacky (naff?) little plastic number to represent Jamie’s chronological achievement. This was well and good until the morning when we blearily realised through our hangovers that the birthday candles had created a festive black smokey mark up the hotel wall, almost to the ceiling, and burned right through the wooden headboard. I was hungover enough to think that a wet towel, pocket knife, masking tape and some makeup would cover/repair the damage. We sneaked off, collecting and destroying all evidence of burning - including the lonely plastic number 3 whose partner had melted away.
We’ve not heard anything yet, but I guess now we’re officially on the run from the law. Or just from a moderately budget hotel chain that shall remain nameless. We’ll be redoing Jamie's birthday dinner at the first Michelin restaurant we come across but probably won’t redo the candles.
Note on photos:
Since I returned to France, I read and Jamie finished reading Alain De Botton’s ‘Art of Travel’ (thanks Stef for the loan!). Ridiculously good book – made us both feel fine about despising Paris. Anyway, the point is – there are no photos for the moment, and we feel ok about that too. Photos can be artificial attempts to capture the moment, apparently. Really we just forgot to take any. Anyway, the actual point is – we’re determined to be mindful philosophical travellers and not just snap-happy tourists, so – photos from now will be well thought out attempts to capture a moment, not mindless holiday snaps – although I think these still have their place. We may also follow Botton’s advice and paint ‘word pictures’ of our adventures. We’ll see.
Au ‘voir!