Catching up #2: Ending the Siege of Troyes – Elephants Ho!

I tell you what, catching up is hard when you’re travelling so goddamn fast. Like me: this is being re-enacted from the heart of the Bordeaux region, near Saintes after I suddenly realised that I was in Carcassonne and rapidly running out of days to fit the miles in. Lucky I made some notable notes – thanks Cap.
Having loaded up my hoard of Calzone, strapped everything else to the bike and put all my layers on beneath the bleeding sun ( to quote from Benny Hill – Archie, The Fastest Milkman in the West) I was sweating like a shaking dog – for it was an absolutely beautiful clear blue sky (and it was to remain that way for a which – not a spoiler alert really). I chose a lighter pullover and stuffed my fluffy fleece into my big bag.


Troyes fully loaded

Driving out of Troyes clearly demonstrated to me that I had mastered the art of French Driving. Going around the town the night before in a right strop engendered in me enough indifference towards other motorists that I was driving like a native (of France that is: I suspect a native of Hawaii might have a different style, perhaps Barak Obama-bin-Laden would have struggled… not I).

Despite my brash , confident riding style I was definitely feeling a little trepidatious. My Phone still wasn’t bloody working and my ability to select top most accommodation was falling short of my high expectations: so far 1 out of 1 bookings were not good. Ahead of me was a right long drive: yesterday’s trip was a bit under 400km, this one is 510km. Plus, it is using more that one road!

Out on the highway I discovered that despite the lovely sunshine it was bloody freezing – I was shaking like a sweating dog. I pulled into one of the many delightful services where I did two things:

1. I unstrapped, de-security-netted and unloaded my big bag and found my big cosy fleece and stripped off in the car park, nipples like chapel hat pegs, and re-layered. Ooooh so toasty (then re=packed, loaded etc.)
2. Purchased the most delicious tuna baguette and coffee I think I’ve ever tasted and ate it in the sunshine on at a picnic table where teeny-tiny birds of some description (which I won’t bother with beyond teeny and tiny… and bird) kept landing close by looking for my crumbs. There weren’t any because I was enjoying the baguette so much but they were hopeful to the end. Did I mention that I ordered this in fluent French? Thone (tuna) is the only word I had to repeat to ensured the lady behind the counter understood me. “Ah tuna!” she said eventually making it obvious that it would have been much easier for the both of us if I’d stuck to English. But you know what – I’m talking French at them if it kills them!

I was just getting ready to speed off on my journey when a big 4×4 BMW pulls up in the bay next to me and as the (presumably) wife gets out something is said – some kind of greeting. By this time I have my ear plugs (not butt plugs – yes I have two) in so I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or the Goth in the back seat now just emerging into actual daylight.

Would you know it she was talking to me and they are Ingerlanders. I spend a bit of time chatting – they too are seasoned bike tourers – they are especially keen on the Balkans. We chat about motorcycling – as one does – and before we part ways I discover that they are on route to Sienna where their son (possibly a Goth like their daughter but somehow I doubt it) is getting married! Makes me wonder how far South into Italy I can get. But first things first – I need to get across France.

As previously mentioned, a spent a fair bit of time deciding my route to Chambery. I needed to keep on the Autoroutes to get the distance but Google was suggesting another long slog that looked a bit like the day before’s. So I selected a new route – one that looked like it would get closer to the Alps.

 

Route Planned

Well I am so glad I planned this route. I started to get a little bit excited when I actually entered the Rhone-Alpes region and could see, on the horizon, some big mountainy-looking shapes. I pulled into one of the many lovely motorway stops to a) take a pic and b) makes sure my helmet cam was ready (no this is not another cue to show me having a wee)!



The pics don’t do it justice but the helmet cam, now set up complete with microphone, captured the moment as I sped out of the Services and yelled “Oh fuck I haven’t got my fucking glasses on!”. Yes, dear gentle fluffy reader, I had left my glasses on the back of the bike to re-instate my helmet and driven off without putting them back on. Again (I‘ve done this before). This time there wasn’t a chance I was going to go back to find them crushed on the road – I’m on a bloody motorway.

Actually the moment of anger lifted quite quickly when I realised how comfortable it was to not have to wear them inside my helmet. Trouble was – I wanted to see. Specifically the mountains were getting closer (although still a way off) and I wanted to see them clearly!

Being highly prepared I had my sunglasses with me (prescription lenses, buy one get one free) and soon I had them on and looked just like Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider.

Well I was a little unprepared for the view that slapped me in the chops when I emerged from a long tunnel. Sweet baby cheeses those hills are big man. My reaction, again caught on helmet-cam was such that I became convinced that the long line of misfortune and technical failures (one dodgy night in truth) were well and truly behind me and that the booking tonight would be wonderful and my phone would be working. In fact one of these things would come to pass – it took ages to discover that my phone had a two-stage data roaming setting: national and international and I hadn’t selected the latter.

At this point I must add that I had not discovered the painstakingly long and drawn out process it is to move HD MP4 movie files around and upload them. Let me tell you boy, I have a shed load of stuff but I’ll have to upload back in Blighty. For now I will leave you a little bit longer for a glimpse of my Alps: the only stills I took were on the next leg of the journey – worth waiting for. Nevertheless, each bend in the road and each tunnel gave me better and better glimpses of proper mountains with white tips.

I fired up the Sat Nav as I got into Chambery to make sure I could find this place – and find it I did, very quickly. As I drove passed it I was scanning for a safe parking space. I went around the block five times and a car park and found no spaces let alone a space where I’d be prepared to leave the bike unattended.

There was a scooter parked on the pavement (of course, we’re in France) right outside the building I wanted but there were railings along the edge forcing me to mount the pavement and ride along it (as the scooter would have done). Just as I did so, a mother with a young child and pushchair (suspected contents being another, younger and/or smaller child) came around the corner and walked at me.

Death and injury did not occur. I (possibly rather too considerately for France) found a gap in the railings and pulled off the footpath for yet another delightful ride around the block.
This time however, as I came to the building again there was a old dude unloading. No, not like a shaking dog. He was taking some stuff out of his car (inconveniently parked I might add) and he kind of looked at me funny as if to say “Monsieur, are you the guest I am expecting?”. I nodded (which clearly meant “Oui! Where the bloody hell am I supposed to park. I asked you about parking by email when I booked and you said no problem, Where the bloody hell am I supposed to park?”

He completely ignored this and took his grocery bag inside, so I stopped near his car and waited for him. And yes, it was Maurice! He owned the place and was to be my host and he was absolutely lovely!

I mentioned the parking using my mouth this time and he pointed to where the scooter had been (now vanished). So did the whole pavement mounting bit again whilst he protected the innocent bystanders and jaywalkers. He helped me by holding my helmet in both hands and together we went upstairs. And upstairs. And upstairs. And upstairs – Jesus it’s like the bloody Portland! No that’s really unfair – these were fancy bid wide old-fashioned stairs that led to his beautiful door and wonderful apartment!


Proud Maurice

Here he is. A trifling spiral staircase from this (pictured) room took me into a most fantastic bedroom that was only marginally bigger than the most enormous TV screen I’ve ever seen and I knew that Troyes (and possibly AirBnb entirely) was behind me.

Maurice drew me a walking tour of the town (very small old centre) and marked good places to eat and he explained features and quirks of the town (one that includes Elephants – hence the title of this blog) as he did so. I followed his map and commentary later that evening and enjoyed every minute. These pics I hope shows the beautiful ancient town centre including the Elephant Fountain (nothing to do with Hannibal although that story does crop up in my next episode!).

PICS

The elephants are in honour of one of the richest sons of the town (they don’t really honour the poorer ones I’ve noticed). This guy was a trouble maker and at 17 he was booted out of the town – he joined the army and became really good at killing on a larger and more efficient scale than most. We ended up in the pay of an Indian Maharaja who had the inclination if not the technique to kill and subdue on a large scale – and that’s where our hero comes in. He served his Maharajan paymaster so well that he became immensely wealthy in his own right and returned to his home city of Chambery to swagger around. The main street in the city wasn’t quite wide enough to accommodate the kind of swagger he was trying to achieve and so be bought it – the whole street – knocked it down and had it completely rebuilt beautifully. The local communist council were rather (uncharacteristically) pleased and in his honour built the Elephant Fountain – a big column with him on the top and four disembodied elephants’ heads around the bottom. The elephants are Indian (clearly smaller ears) and hence commemorate his bloodthirsty suppression of less powerful people. That’s maybe what the local council liked about him. That and the one-third of his wealth that he donated to them.

Anyway, I had a very tasty repast at the Tee Bar before completing my circuit of the town and returning to chez Maurice.

Guess what. I am Maurice’s very last guest (for now). He and his wife Casa (she’s from Chile and makes exceedingly good cakes – unlike Mr Bleeding Kipling) are closing up the B & B and setting off on a World Tour. All around the whole world but pointed flying over Africa without stopping. Heading East, dropping a car off in Kosovo for a farm collective (I suspect he’s a communist, they are in France) all over, Russia, China, India, Indonesia, South America, Cuba – all the communist countries come to think of it. They’ve been planning it for ten years and today Casa has baked a cake for her works party on her last day. Well that’s what they told me as they rapidly locked the door behind me.

I wished them all the best – reminding them of course that I am on a tour of my own, they seem a bit preoccupied so I don’t push it.

My time at chez Maurice was brilliant topped off with a superb breakfast spread… but that takes me to the next day with some Gendarmerie, Alpine driving and a bit of Italian (you’ve already had some record breaking pizza titbits) – but that’s another blogging blog,