Day 14-16: Bordeaux to Biarritz via Medoc France - Bastille Day

Bordeaux to Biarritz via Saint-Estephe, France -

Despite being armed with both valid tickets to use the tram in Bordeaux and owning a motorcar with working air conditioning, my energy had dissipated to a new low and I couldn't muster one last night in the centre of Bordeaux having fun and instead opted to watch television in the hotel room with the twink. When I was out the previous many nights, he came across a McDonalds and fine dined there instead of going out himself and I sadly followed suit since I had no desire to eat in the hotel restaurant again. I could barely keep my eyes open as "The Return of the Mummy" screened on the television which of course was dubbed in French.

Despite hanging the "Do Not Disturb" lanyard on the doorknob, there was a rapping on my chamber door at approximately 10:00 AM. The knocking interrupted whatever important e-mail I was composing and I explained to housekeeping that we would be leaving at 12:00 PM, which is the check-out time. She seemed irritated as much as I was. Earlier in the week, the front desk rang the room and asked me when service could do their duty. Again, I had the "Do Not Disturb" lanyard hanging free and I was bemused that the hotel couldn't be bothered to respect the request. To put a final nail in the rather average experience that I had at the Pullman after experiencing a power outage, evacuation and a leaking room, upon checkout, the final room charges were presented to me. There was nothing out of the ordinary sadly however instead of deducting the costs out of the 500€ deposit they already took against my debit card, they ran the additional €300 in charges against it which posted immediately and then refunded the €500 deposit. That was 72 hours ago and do you think I have seen that money returned to my account? Of course not. Why would they not take the room charges out of the deposit and return the delta? It is ridiculous. Fortunately, a dent in my funds will not cause me any drama, in the short-term at least.

Onward to Saint-Estephe. Before a relaxing afternoon could be had, I pulled into a village called Dubergrier. The outdoor seating at Le Petit Verdot was free and it looked like a peaceful place to conduct the last scheduled conference call of the day. I took out my laptop, tethered it to my phone and called into the WebEx session. Only minutes later, what looked like the cast of Sons of Anarchy turned up and what was once an ideal place to make a subdued call turned into an orgy of madness. Fortunately, this call only took twenty minutes as I coughed and stuttered from within a plume of cigarette smoke. We were then immediately on our way after I knocked back a cup of coffee.

The drive through the Haut-Medoc region was lovely and worth experiencing. I dawdled on the road so I could enjoy the scenery and the various Chateaux much to the consternation of taxi drivers and locals who wanted to get down the road. Earlier in the week, the lovely lady at the wine bar in Bordeaux suggested visiting three specific winemakers. She neglected to say that I should make an appointment though so sadly no wine was enjoyed. It was probably for the best as after getting to Saint-Estephe, there was still three hours of driving ahead of us before getting to Biarritz. Even the restaurant that was suggested had stopped serving (it was 3:00 PM, so I wasn't surprised) which motivated us to visit the Carrefour supermarket and buy ham, cheese, baguette, pineapple and juice instead of sitting down at a cafe or restaurant for a change. That is one way to keep the spending down at least. 

After stopping at the ruins of Fort Medoc, along with a beach, my heavy foot enabled us to make good time on the expressway. With the windows up and the air conditioning cooling the car for a change, I could play the last album by My Chemical Romance and enjoy the drive for a change. The motorcar was ultimately ditched in a parking garage near the Mercure in Biarritz and within minutes of checking in, we were in the hotel bar using the drink vouchers that they kindly provided. One glass of wine turned into three before heading out to the promenade at the Casino Barriere and ordering a bottle of wine and watching the locals enjoy life. Coming from the nanny state of Australia, it always amazes me when I see the wayward youth drinking on the beach with reckless abandon as that would be frowned on in Oz. I thought of buying a few bottles and taking them down to the beach myself to make new friends but instead argued with the twink about Trump and Brexit, which are always topics that can stir me up on a balmy night.

After waking up at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM, I went back to sleep and woke up again at noon. It would have been at least two years since I slept in so late. The hotel room was as dark and cold as a morgue, ideal conditions for me to regenerate. The twink didn't complain, at least until I woke him up and told him to G-YAM, which is literally translated in Chezdon-speak to Get Your Arse Moving. Lunch was scheduled around the corner from the hotel at Le Clos Basque, a notable entry in the Michelin guide. As I pondered how spending is getting out of control on this trip, glasses of champagne arrived and we were informed that the special was lobster. I didn't need to think about that choice for more than a second. After a very nice starter of salmon tartare with guacamole, the lobster and potatoes filled me up sufficiently that I bombastically proclaimed that we could, of course, save money by not enjoying dessert and only knocking back one bottle of wine.

We walked around the Biarritz and I must have sweat out the half bottle of wine that I had for lunch. I ended up with the top part of my purple shirt saturated with a line of residual sunscreen at the bottom of the wet crest; which was embarrassing, to say the least. That didn't stop us from refuelling with a few more beers on the promenade before retiring to the hotel and taking a nap. After yet another shower, we wandered down to the beach and waited an hour for sunset and the scheduled fireworks at 11:00 PM and celebrating Bastille Day. It was a great fireworks show (not as good as you would find in Sydney Harbour on New Year's Eve) but it was fun and entertained the thousands of spectators who were all very cheerful, probably because they new France would win the World Cup the next day.

After so much sleep, I was up and ready to leave Biarritz sadly at 8:00 AM. Although there are plenty of tourists at this time of year and prices for sundry items are commensurate with the season, I love Biarritz and really can't wait until I can return as it is my kind of city. This was my second trip to Biarritz, the first sadly was only three hours two years ago and it felt like it had been an eternity. I certainly will not be waiting that long before returning again. With the great beach, restaurants on offer and friendly attractive locals, I may even try to return again on this road trip if time permits. I also want to return to Bordeaux, this time with appointments scheduled to taste some wine along with a designated driver. Lesson learned.

Next stop Basque Country, Spain.

#biarritz #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#biarritz #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 14, 2018 at 7:26am PDT

Waiting for the night to fall so the fireworks can starr. #bastilleday #biarritz #france #biarritzinlove #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 14, 2018 at 2:49pm PDT

#bastilleday #biarritz #france #biarritzinlove #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#medoc #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#fortmedoc #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#biarritz #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Day 9-13: La Rochelle to Bordeaux, France -

The drive from La Rochelle to Bordeaux - 

The fun continues.

Just as I finished the first sentence of this post, I heard a rumble above me. Water then started to pour out from behind the service panel on the ceiling near the front door and onto the carpet. The bloke doing some maintenance in the room across the hallway was working and it would seem broke a pipe. How fitting that as soon as I decide that there are no more fires to extinguish from the daily work duties that the dripping ceiling prevents me, albeit briefly, from writing this blog post.

Over the last week, I have exchanged e-mails about my disappointing stay at the Dieppe Mercure with its management. Supposedly they offered me an apology and 10% off my tariff for the inconvenience. That is fake news since I prepaid for that accommodation a month prior and no refund was ever issued let alone offered and nobody ever apologised. I believe they put it in the too hard basket as is my time out experiencing Europe really worth carrying on over what is a perceived 10€ refund? Je pense que non!

Before leaving the Ibis La Rochelle Centre Historique on Sunday, we visited the La Rochelle Bunker (Museum) around the corner. It was built by the Germans in 1941 after La Rochelle was occupied in World War II and remains intact. Despite the mannequins that are posing, which attempt to paint a picture of what life was like for the young German men who spent limited days in the war on submarines, you get a sense of the relief felt after they survived their time at the sea. The frescoes painted on the walls, ceilings and objects add a bit of levity; painted by two female Hamburg artists that were commissioned randomly by the local area command. To top it off, a small (non-working) bar occupies pride and place of this bunker, which along with the wartime relics, really captures what life was like during the occupation, at least for the Germans.

Upon leaving the Ibis, I reflected that it was a good value for money considering the location. It is a no-frills hotel and I felt no desire at any point to eat in the restaurant or drink in the bar. With so many options in the area, why would you? The air conditioning worked well and since I only needed to work one day inside the room, it never became too claustrophobic.

The drive to Bordeaux was uneventful and a fair amount of time was spent on the expressway where you can drive 130km/hr. With the windows down and my back and shirt saturated with sweat, the drive quickly became tedious and I found myself pressing harder on the accelerator if only to get down the road quicker. My goal is to get the air conditioning in the car fixed whilst in Bordeaux, if only not to bore the reader of this blog to death with my constant complaining.

We rocked up at the Pullman Hotel nearly two hours before the check-in time, in part due to my heavy foot. They were happy to check us in and also take a 500€ deposit for incidentals. I thought that was excessive but I learned the convenience of the restaurant, if not to just work but also enjoy a glass or two of wine would be just too tempting over the time that I have spent here so the deposit is justified. The hotel is next to the lake (Bordeaux-Lac) and there is a tram stop outside which makes life somewhat convenient.

With both of the ticket machines malfunctioning at the tram stop, in a huff, I proclaimed that we would drive the hot stuffy car to the centre of the city. I found free parking on the street (it was Sunday) near the beautiful Monument aux Girondins where the local skaters were practising their craft. We followed the awesome landmarks onto Rue de Sainte-Catherine which is a very long pedestrianised street bordered by shops. Toward the end of the walk, it gets a bit dodgy and we decided on an alternative path back first stopping at a tram stop, where the ticket machine was actually working. We were able to procure ten-use tickets that would be good for a week. Our ramble took us past the Cathedrale Saint-Andre Bordeaux which dates back to the 11th century and the Bordeaux Town Hall. After 16,000 steps, exhausted and sweaty, we drove back to the Pullman, enjoyed a much needed cold shower and retreated to the hotel bar for some much-needed wine and cheese.

On Monday, a mate from Australia flew in to see me. He was keen to watch France play Belgium in World Cup final and catch up with me as an aside. He really has far too much money and time on his hands. After a long day of tapping away in the restaurant, we set off on the tram and not long after we had found chairs outside of a brasserie near the iconic gateway to the city, Porte de Bourgogne. We spent hours there gossiping and people watching before wandering around the beguiling city. More drinks were enjoyed as we crawled through the ancient streets and laneways. I consulted the pages of the Michelin guide that I had stored on my phone but all the recommended restaurants were closed. We popped into a Turkish-inspired restaurant. I was keen to drink more wine and when my mate thought that I should drink water instead, I am told I tossed it over my shoulder because I am "allergic" which entertained him to no end. I was later told that I enjoyed the food and the trip back to the Pullman was swift in an Uber. I didn't pay for it so I don't feel any guilt about having a problem with my memory from that drunken night.

In a sketchy state, I performed my multiple morning video conference calls and pushed e-mails, eventually going to the hotel restaurant at midday to catch up with my Sydney mate. Sadly, I could not abandon my professional duties until late in the afternoon which is once again when we caught the tram and headed to Quinconces in the centre of town. We enjoyed a few drinks near the River Garonne again before checking out the 17th century Notre Dame. This Jesuit-styled church was filled with art which included a small room which you can pay to get into that had what I would assume to be more ornate or celebrated pieces on display, but sadly they were locking that door as we stumbled in. Spitting distance from the church was Maruya restaurant. I did some research on French-inspired Japanese restaurants and this place kept getting mentioned. It turned out to be a very good value six-source degustation and along with a spicy tuna roll and a few beers cost a cool 139€ which I thought was a bargain.

With the World Cup match between France and Belgium taking place, we ambled to Place Gambetta. The brasseries all had televisions showing it and only a few minutes after we arrived, France scored the only goal of the match. The crowd, of course, loved it and the already festive atmosphere only became louder and more cheerful. We found seats and watched the celebration which poured into the streets into the early hours of the morning after the French won. Swarms of revellers swarmed cars on the roads, climbed on top of the bus stop, caught a free ride on the back of the rubbish truck and generally went crazy. One bloke caught out of his own car, stripped down and stood on the vehicle roof and shouted his support for France, which really got the crowd going long into the night. As we always had a beer in hand, when my alarm woke me up the next day, I wanted to do anything but look at my laptop and do more video conference calls. I was tired and wrecked but it was a great and memorable night.

Thursday was all a bit of a wash and repeat, but this time it involved watching England lose against Croatia which made me circumspect. We happened into the oldest wine shop in Bordeaux in the Place du Parlement called Cousin et Compagnie. We did a tasting with the lovely shop attendant. She gave me some recommendations as to what Chateaux to visit in the Medoc region via motorcar. Having inside knowledge is key as the last thing I wanted to do was some canned tour on a bus with obnoxious tourists. We also randomly came across what seems to be a new tapas bar called Le Wooosh. Some very nice craft Ultra-IPA lubricated us before the inevitable loss where the brasserie turned into a nightclub of sorts. We continued to another tapas bar and enjoyed a plate of Jamon, a few more beers and then called it quits and retreated back to the Pullman via tram.

After a brief excursion, my mate from Sydney headed out and nearly missed his plane after procrastinating. I took the twink to the laverie with all of our dirty clothes and he sorted them out whilst I performed on my last conference call for the day. When I ended that call, I looked around this hotel room and enjoyed the silence for a brief minute and that is when I thought I would write this blog post. Remember the rumble in the ceiling and when the water started pouring in? Well, that was yesterday afternoon and I had the intention of at least writing this.

En route to pick up the twink who I found on the street holding the bag of clean clothes like Santa would his cache of presents, I drove past "garages" that looked suspiciously like they would repair a motorcar. Having been fobbed off by Mercedes earlier in the week telling me in perfect written French that they can not service by vehicle for two weeks, I wanted to make some additional queries. We turned up at one of the garages. Nobody spoke a word of English but my limited broken French got a result. They couldn't deal with my air conditioning but suggested who could and pointed me in the right direction. I turned up at that place, however, trying to make an appointment to have the vehicle repaired turned into a challenge because the car isn't registered in France. The paperwork? Who cares, I need the air conditioning fixed. I discovered this was a chain of auto parts stores - car repair franchises, I found another location out near the airport. Strategically, I created an account online and was able to book the air conditioning service at Norauto Merignac near the airport. I input a fake number plate when I registered online and just added a note that the car is from England and the accurate plate number. Upon presenting myself, everything was d'accord and because I paid online, within 90 minutes I had my key back and the air conditioning working yet again. Even the traffic back to Bordeaux-Lac couldn't wipe the smile from my face as, like Santa lived in, I turned the interior of the Benz into frosty wintery conditions. We will be able to visit the Chateaux in Medoc that was recommended by the lovely lady in the wine shop in full comfort now. Life is good. However, it is now time to check out of the hotel and leave this wonderful city behind for now. Five nights in Bordeaux were not enough and I will certainly be back. Maybe even on this roadtrip. Who knows?

#bordeaux #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#bordeaux #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#bordeaux #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#bordeaux #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 8, 2018 at 6:59am PDT

#nsfw #hooligans What a great night out in #bordeaux after the #worldcup2018 win #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 10, 2018 at 5:06pm PDT

#bordeaux #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#bordeaux #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Interesting art inside the #ww2 bumker in #larochelle #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Day 6-8: La Rochelle and Île de Ré, France - Rays of Light

La Rochelle to Ile de Re then back to La Rochelle

Stuck in front of the laptop, I felt like I had a productive morning as we organised ourselves to leave the Novotel in St Brieuc. When I was confident that everything was under control, I put the device to sleep, slid it into my backpack and formally checked out of the hotel. I wasn't surprised to find a bill for £202.88 just for food and alcohol consumed in the bar. I rolled my eyes and got out my Monzo card and thanked the attentive staff for a great and relaxing stay. I was then given a card which allowed me to get the motorcar out of the parking structure for free, saving around £45 much to my surprise. With my sinus problems and general malaise well behind me, I was once again feeling I had some luck on my side.

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.

#ilederé #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#ilederé #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Why the long face? #france won! #ilederé #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 7, 2018 at 6:41am PDT

Exit via the gift shop. #ilederé #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 7, 2018 at 11:43am PDT

Lunchtime on #ilederé #france I suppose this is a good alternative to #londonpride

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Exit via the gift shop. #ilederé #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Days 3-5: St Brieuc France - Relax, Don't do it...

St Brieuc to La Rochelle, France

After what would have been the best sleep I had in a month, I woke up and shook off the remains of the white wine headache when the alarm began shouting at me at 6:30 AM. I was so full of energy for once that I not only wrote a blog post but visited the gym, all before sadly pulling out my work laptop and authenticating via the VPN client. During the first of the many daily meetings, I penned a letter of complaint about the awful hotel in Dieppe. It was filled with colourful adjectives as you can appreciate and as of this writing, the management is still investigating the valid points that I raised. I didn't bother articulating my view through the window was spoiled by the volume of seagull shit as that would not have been civil I suppose.

Although I wasn't hassled much at work on Monday, it proved to be fraught with report writing and cost forecasting which I detest. In the air-conditioned luxury of the hotel room at the Novotel, I didn't mind the drudgery for once. We wandered into the historical area of St Brieuc, which looked like a dystopian dream of long abandoned shops, zombies milling about and wayward youths just languishing around. We sat at a table in a calm plaza and requested two glasses of wine. Everyone around us was getting on the piss, including a gentleman at the table next to us who didn't seem to be too concerned that a bird had shit on his head. With broken French words I attempted to order lunch but it was all stuffed up. Instead of mussels, sausages came out along with the "plat du jour" which was some sort of reheated breaded fish. I had to go back and do more work, which I didn't mind since there really wasn't much to see in St Brieuc, at least on foot. The night was spent in the hotel bar watching Japan's failed world cup clash against Belgium, enjoying a modest three-course bland dinner and drinking four bottles of the local white.

The massive effort in the Novotel bar on Monday night meant I didn't wake up feeling as spry and energetic as the previous day. I ignored the alarm squelching and went back to sleep and got out of bed only a few minutes before my first scheduled conference call three hours later. I suffered through a morning of jargon, shouting at the laptop and frantically updating actions on a spreadsheet. Then a powerpoint presentation was updated for a weekly report that I send out that nobody reads. How do I know this? I e-mail it encrypted which will force a return read receipt even if it goes to a foreign domain. I can't remember when someone last read this report and considering I walk a gaggle of people through it on a weekly call, it bemuses me that nobody bothers to open it.

I consulted the Michelin guide and we found ourselves at the relatively understated L'Air du Temps for lunch. This time ordering the three courses was much easier because the chalkboard was placed in front of our faces and there were not many options. A bottle of red from Bourdeaux was enjoyed, a glass of it in the laneway after I excused myself to ring into some boring meeting that thankfully finished up quickly. I scoffed down the casserole of meat and fresh veggies and thankfully cleansed my palate with stinky cheese and the remains of the bottle. Once again I returned to the hotel to respond to e-mails and chase others in even more exotic overseas regions to action items. After another wander around the town, once I finished my daily duties, we found ourselves once again in the air-conditioned Novotel bar and drinking the local white wine once again late into the evening watching England win their world cup match thankfully.

Wednesday yielded rain and again, little enthusiasm to rise early and visit the gym. I started in on my professional tasks early which meant we could meet for lunch at the Donkey, which is just a coffee shop after cheap labour was exploited at the local laundromat to wash our sweat-stained clothes from the last few days. He didn't mind and I was told that the locals were practising their understanding of the English language whilst our clothes tumbled back to a state of cleanliness. I ordered the tuna on a bagel but it turned out to be from a can mixed with beetroot. The cold vanilla latte was nice and reminded me of something that you could easily source in Melbourne. After I closed my work laptop for the day, we once again went for a long walk around town. After stopping for two small cups of cider at a brasserie where it was hard to get service, it was back to the Novotel bar for the usual bottles of white before pulling up stumps early and retiring.

It turned out to be a very calm sojourn to St Brieuc which is what I designed as part of the overarching plan. After the chaos of the previous month of moving out of London and the usual social responsibilities, I needed a break in air-conditioned bliss in a hotel that ironically was listed in my Michelin guide. A hotel that I highly recommend.

#stbrieuc #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 3, 2018 at 2:34am PDT

Lunch at L'air du Temps #stbrieuc #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 3, 2018 at 6:47am PDT

#lestweforget #stbrieuc #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 4, 2018 at 11:08am PDT

Day 2: Dieppe, Caen, Mont Saint-Michel, St Brieuc France - The Savagery of War

Dieppe to Caen to Mont-Saint Michel to St Brieuc, France

Sleep eluded me for most of the night. The hot stale air didn't force my limp body to sweat however after laying in state for a few hours watching some French language variety show, I finally drifted off. I wasn't stirred from my slumber by sirens and rumbling motorbikes for a change though. This time I was roused from my light sleep by the aggressive squawking seagulls that enjoyed all sorts of tomfoolery near the hotel. I couldn't help but giggle as embattled sounds of the wild are much preferred to the alternative. My alarm finally woke me up at the usual early hour sadly as I needed to ring into a scheduled call and check in on the status of some work that was being carried out south of London

A cold shower motivated us to leave the awful stuffy hotel and emerge into the humid light of day. The imposing Chateau de Dieppe overlooks the beach and stands at the terminus of the waterfront near the memorial to the thousands of Canadian lives that were lost on 19 August 1942 in the aborted Dieppe Raid. I learned that despite the Allied retreat that there was a level of electronic intelligence achieved and this raid influenced the preparations for Operation Overlord - the future Allied Normandy landings a few years later.

Not wanting to give any money to the shitty so-called four-star Mercure, we enjoyed petit dejeuner at a neighbouring hotel after walking the length of the waterfront. Tanks once rolled over this beach where kiosks are now erected selling ice cream, coffee and souvenirs. It is easy to become sullen when you consider the history of the area whilst shoving ham, cheese and half of a croissant into your gob.

The organ was being played at the gothic Saint-Jacques Church. The dulcet sounds reverberated through my body as I wandered the medieval streets of the fishing port. My only regret was not sitting outside of the Cafe des Tribunaux at least for a coffee before we collected our bags and drove away with the motorcar windows down.

We pressed on to Caen via the toll road. Traffic moved relatively quick at 130 km/hr. The highway was in the same state that you would find in Australia, however, you would be publicly tarred and feathered in the press and labelled a potential baby killer for "speeding" in that country at that rate of travel. You would also be fined heavily - an amusing thought as we got on down the road unencumbered and sweating whilst sipping from the bottles of water purchased from the Dieppe Carrefour.

I was keen to have a wander around the city of Caen which was a battlefront between the British and Germans in WW2 during the Battle of Normandy. I drove up to the War Memorial which is actually a large museum where they charge 20€ for an entry pass per person. Normally on the first Sunday of each month, access to museums in France are free but this one must be an exception. I learned that this city was bombed to rubble and the population decreased from 60,000 to 17,000 over a short time. The former Church of Saint-Etienne-le-Vieux remains in ruins in the centre of Caen, a timely reminder of the savagery of war. It is worth a visit, along with the Hotel de Ville across the road.

With the windows down and now sporting my Lancashire Cricket Club hat, we motored along the expressway towards Mont Saint-Michel. I stopped at the German War Cemetery en route. I was surprised that such an imposing structure was built, including vaults to house the remains of the dead. The only other German war graves I had previously visited were in Belgium and the plot of land looked in disarray in comparison to this site which has a marvellous view of Mont Saint-Michel from the top of the hill.

We abandoned the motorcar in the parking area near Mont Saint-Michel and took a ride on the free bus along the bridge to the island commune. Not being tourist virgins to this site, we grabbed an overpriced cheese toasty and wandered around and didn't pay to go to the top. Hot, sweaty and fatigued, we wanted to retreat down the motorway one last time and meet our destiny at the next hotel which was pre-booked in St Brieuc. I was delighted to find air-conditioned bliss along with a room upgrade. A much-needed cold shower was enjoyed before enjoying the delights of the local wines, all which arrived corked.

Life is good.

#montsaintmichel #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 3, 2018 at 2:31am PDT

#caen #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 3, 2018 at 2:27am PDT

#dieppe #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 3, 2018 at 2:22am PDT

The German War Graves near #montsaintmichel #france #chez5sosroadtrip2018

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 3, 2018 at 2:30am PDT

Day 1: Manchester UK to Dieppe France - Something is Awry

The journey begins. Let the good times roll.

Manchester (Salford) UK to Dieppe, France

It was with great anticipation and fanfare departing Manchester this morning ahead of schedule. Maybe it was the 9% alcohol by volume local craft beer that I was drinking last night combined with the horrible nights of sleep over the last fortnight, but in general, my body is buggered. By this point in the day, I had taken six Sudafed tablets with the hope of controlling the malaise which includes a very runny nose, sneezing and watery eyes. I am hopeful that after a much anticipated proper night of sleep will shake the disease.

The drive from Manchester to Newhaven (271mi/436km) took around six hours - an hour wasted because of roadworks on the M6 and congestion. A single break involved a brief stop at a roadside service station to purchase a tank of diesel and two bottles of Dr Pepper. The attendant asked us if we were doing anything interesting today with little real interest. I responded by saying, "going to France" with a smile. She asked if that is where I am from. Come on! I have a dodgy hybrid accent but I have never been accused of being French. "L'horreur!" I shouted and she didn't get it.

Traffic on the London Orbital near Heathrow was predictably awful. There was congestion heading in every direction, including towards the sea which is where we were going. Just when I thought that the interior of the motorcar might be getting too cold, the air conditioning stuttered and the joyous cold air quickly morphed into a hellish draft direct from a fissure from hell. I paid to have the system recharged and hygienically cleaned after I purchased the vehicle a month ago. Frustrated and dumbfounded, the windows had to be retracted as we rolled into Newhaven with a few hours to spare before the car ferry was scheduled to leave.

With my eyes watering and violently sneezing, I ordered a chicken sandwich from The Ark in the working harbour at Newhaven, desperate for some sort of sustenance. My dinner last night consisted of two huge scotch eggs which looked like inflamed testicles and the aforementioned craft beer. I was in probably the only bar in Manchester that had air conditioning running blissfully on full blast. I ingested more Sudafed, blew my nose and forced the chicken burger down my throat. It was awful. The bloke behind the counter offered his opinion as I ordered and claimed it is really good so I knew I would be disappointed. Two chicken burgers and two diet cokes came to more than I could simply tap and go on the EFT machine as the bill was more than £30. Shocking. I had to suffer the indignity of pressing the numbers on the machine as beads of sweat rolled down my back.

With time on our side, we drove along the coast to Brighton. The unwashed masses were sunning their collective pale skin on the rocky foreshore. Revellers sipped from pint glasses as they looked out to the sea somehow as a phalanx of cars, mine included, crawled down the road with the alacrity of a newborn escaping the womb for the first time. Scaffolding had been erected around the Grand Hotel and it is undergoing a facelift. The last time this probably happened was when the IRA blew it up thinking that they would take out Margaret Thatcher.

Back in Newhaven, the check-in procedure for the ferry was painless. We drove to the gate, presented our passports and since I had pre-purchased tickets and associated our journey with the registration number of my disabled motorcar, passing into the waiting zone was easy. Fortunately, we were directed to the first lane which was shrouded in blissful shade.

After ditching the vehicle where we were told to leave it, we were directed to the restaurant and bar area of the vessel. A band was setting up. Televisions were broadcasting the jubilation of the very recent France victory over Argentina (4-3) in their World Cup match. I took another two tablets of Sudafed, kept my sunglasses on and tried not to move as the ferry roared to life and disembarked from the port. The cover band belted out classics that made the majority of people seated on the deck, level 7, flee to the back of level 6 just to get away from the noise.

The four-hour journey over the English Channel felt like it went by quickly. Very limited WiFi is available on the boat which made WhatsApp useable but not much else. Still hungry after my poor late lunch, I rolled the dice and ordered spaghetti bolognese from the "restaurant" which could easily be confused with the canteen from high school. This time the food tasted like it came from a can and I imagined 100-gallon drums of spaghetti being stored somewhere on this ship of fools. I wandered outside to watch the blood red sun begin to set in the distance just as an announcement was made in two languages that we will be arriving in Dieppe shortly.

Ours was the third vehicle to drive off the ferry which meant we visited the EU immigration officer within a minute. Our passports were handed to him from the relative comfort of the motorcar (it was no longer warm outside and the lack of air conditioning was no longer annoying me) and we were quickly sent on our way without a question being asked. After passing two gates, I followed Google's directions to the foreshore and quickly found Hôtel Mercure Dieppe la Présidence and abandoned the motorcar in a public lot on the beach.

I had been looking forward to sleeping at this four-star hotel for weeks. Finally my chance to sleep in freezing conditions courtesy of climate control. As I was handed the room keycards, I was enthusiastically poked in the ribs and a sign in both English and French was pointed out to me. This hotel is not air conditioned it announces very matter of factly. Outraged, I flash-backed to the three different sources I consulted before making every hotel booking to verify that the hotels are in-fact air conditioned. It was 11:00 PM and being out of practice conversing in French I didn't want to try to argue or try to get a refund and go somewhere else. I got in the lift thinking it can't be too hellish. I was wrong.

Wandering the foreshore of #newhaven after lunch before catching the ferry to #dieppe

A post shared by Chezdon Mitchell (@chez5sos) on Jul 1, 2018 at 10:40pm PDT