 |
| La Rochelle to Ile de Re then back to La Rochelle |
Whilst I was filling the tank with diesel, one of my colleagues rang me. I saw the incoming call flash on the stereo display and I didn't think much of it because I needed to focus on keeping the fuel flowing into the tank and not all over me. Once we were back on the motorway, more calls came in fast and furiously. Windows would then go up to silence the road noise whilst I barked that a situation that was evolving in London was just not possible. The car was warming up without air conditioning and because I couldn't chatter fast enough and type out messages with enough alacrity whilst keeping safe control of the vehicle, I pulled off the highway an hour into the journey at a cute town called Bedee. We found a cafe, I pulled out my laptop and ordered lunch without much regard for what was listed on the "menu du jour" chalkboard. It wasn't long before I was standing on the side of the road with my laptop in one hand and phone in the other trying to manage a situation that was just getting worse. I popped into the cafe to quickly consume my first course of melon and ham and then took my place outside once again talking on the phone. I returned to the cafe once again to quickly eat my main, which I recall being quite tasty but not knowing really what it was, but I never returned for the dessert, which I heard was in fact excellent. At one point a local shouted at me as he assumed I was plotting some act of terror or sabotage. I ignored him until my driving companion said "bonjour" to him and explained in English that I was dealing with a drama at work. That seemed to placate the old bloke. After that run-in, I took a seat in front of the old church that occupies pride and place in the centre of town to finish my urgent calls, finally closing the lid of the laptop two hours later and wiping a layer of sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand.
Back on the motorway, I quietly cursed the motorcar and the lack of air conditioning. This is a Mercedes Benz, damn it! Everything is supposed to work properly. The general consensus is that the previous owner never used the air conditioning and when I started to do so religiously, a small leak formed, thus liberating the gas which provides the much-needed cooling. With the temperature gradually climbing in the west of France, it is something that I will need to sort out soon if only to keep me sane.
Traffic congestion on the highway near Nantes was nothing compared to what you would find in Melbourne, London or even Los Angeles so I tried to keep perspective as beats of sweat rolled down my back and Kurt Cobain moaned about teenage angst on the stereo. After a lovely drive after leaving the expressway through rural estates and sunflower farms, we found a parking spot near the hotel and because we arrived after 6:30 PM, it was free to park.
The hotel room was half the size of the one in St Brieuc but that didn't matter. The air conditioning was blasting and it was as cold as London in January. After a shower, we went exploring La Rochelle on foot. We found our way to the promenade which was teaming with life. The La Rochelle Film Festival was on and there was a long queue to get into the cinema. They were screening a film about Marina Abramovic which I saw last year, which reminded me of a fantastic exhibit that featured her at the Museum of Old and New Art in Hobart, Tasmania a few years ago. I took part in one of the "art experiments" and was locked in a room where I was tasked to count dry rice and beans. You were free to go whenever you wanted but I persisted in absolute silence counting and in the end, I separated around 3,000 pieces of rice from 800 beans, only to simply have the nice tidy piles pushed into a bucket at the end of a two-hour session where time really did get away from me.
We found ourselves sitting at a table outside of Le Petit Auberage, drinking wine and gorging on steak and salmon tartare. It was a balmy night and conditions that one associates with France, sitting on the side of a laneway watching the travellers of the night pass by with wine glass in hand. After the day that I had, I really didn't care about a budget and took enjoyment in indulging after walking around the waterfront.
On Friday I was up very early preparing for the day as I didn't want a repeat of the madness which played out the previous day at work. Remarkably, most tasks were executed as I expected and besides some comfortable laughter on a few checkpoint calls where I tried to make light of the chaotic day that was recently experienced, I felt comfortable enough to enjoy a relaxing lunch at Le Cabanon des Pecheurs which according to the Michelin guide at least, is known for their seafood dishes. It was the first time that I ate sea snails and they were very tasty. I was left to de-vein the three prawns though which was disappointing as I hate working for my food. The oysters tasted like they had just been farmed and were very tasty. A vintage from Bordeaux washed it down. I read a message on my phone that detailed more bad news from work and hastily retreated back to the laptop to solve a few issues before I felt like I could join the masses of people watching France play their World Cup quarter-final game at the nearest brasserie. One pint turned into two, then another two at a different brasserie, then a couple more at a different venue before ending the night with one more craft beer at a hipster dive before indulging on ice cream.
Free from the stressors of the workplace, I woke up feeling refreshed despite my intake of beer the previous night. We wandered the fish market, which was thriving first thing. The seafood on offer was eclectic and it made me want to return to La Rochelle in the future and rent an apartment just so I could cook with some of the amazing produce available. Obviously, Le Cabanon des Pecheurs sourced their ingredients for my lunch yesterday from here and it would have been nice to have my own facilities to cut out the middleman. This is one of the drawbacks of living in hotels instead of a static warm apartment in London, I suppose.
With the windows down, we ventured over the bridge in the Benz that took us to the Île de Ré, which is just off the coast of La Rochelle. The day was spent puttering from town to town and enjoying modest amounts of drink as we travelled around. A light lunch was had at the beautiful town of La Flotte before heading to the seaside walled town of Saint-Martin-de-Ré. Artisan shops dot the laneways whilst the usual offerings of cafes line the waterfront. We explored the island further, turning off to Loix which didn't seem to have much of a town centre but very claustrophobic labyrinth-like roads where you ventured slowly in your car, just not knowing if you were going to run over a bicyclist or child when going around a corner. Further west, I saw a sign advertising that the football was being screened. We stopped for a few glasses of wine and watched England empathically beat Belgium before exploring the lighthouse at Phare des Baleines. My shoulders were starting to burn by now. I had made the mistake of not putting sunscreen on my white shoulders thinking I would not be spending too much time exposed to the sun. A mere 16,000 steps clocked up though meant a good 2.5 hours of absorbing the direct sun's rays and I ended up as red as my singlet.
A calm drive back to La Rochelle yielded a fantastic parking space in the centre of the city and once again it was free as it was after 6:30 PM. Parking is generally free on Sunday too so it will be easy to get all of our things out of this hotel. Wanting to watch the Russia-Croatia game, we found a brasserie that had a lively local clientele. We were fed plates of meat and cheese and the pints of Stella Artois flowed uninterrupted until Croatia won on penalty goals. Despite my shoulders and the back of my neck burning like hell, it turned out to be a great day on the Île de Ré. I woke up so refreshed after a good night of sleep, I was able to churn out this blog post before considering packing up and moving on to Bordeaux.
