FROLLICKING IN FRANCE

Simply because I departed from South Africa didn't mean the blogging days are over. Why, they've only just begun, folks :) Before assuming another position as a lawyer, I decided to do some quality travelling seeing France and Holland and visiting the family and my father.

The Arrival

I departed for Menton, France, on Sunday May 6, 2007 to join my mother, aunt and uncle. I arrived, after an exhausting flight fraught with delays which totalled eight hours, in Nice where my family was awaiting me. As the plane was ON the runway, the kind pilot announced that there was a mild "mechanical" problem. We pulled back into the gate and waited while the technical guys went at it. After an hour, the pilot, in a slightly embarassed tone, announced that the problem was a lot larger than initially foreseen and that we would get a new plane which was to depart only 5 hours later after it arrived from New York. *sigh*. To top it off, we got a $12.00 voucher for Tim Hortons or Coyote Jack's. I had to feel sorry for the Air Canada representatives who were getting yelled at by the Swiss.

Speaking of angry Swiss people: I was in Zurich waiting for the connecting flight to Nice. I was sitting with a man who films documentaries about family history for the History Channel and the waiter brought me both a beer and a wine. I explained that I had been drinking beer, and that I changed to wine and didn't want both. He was adamant that I pay for both and spoke in a loud whisper and said "You to sign here, NOW". I refused since I wasn't going to cough up 5 Swiss Francs for a drink I didn't order, didn't want and couldnt' drink anyways. He then said he was going to phone the police. I was utterly flabbergasted and looked at my new found companion who told me to let him go ahead and phone the police. So I did just that. This angry swiss waiter returned and was even more adamant that I sign, causing a scene. I was so embarassed, I just signed, but was angry too. My friend gave me $5.00 for the beer but told me I was right. We figured out that the waiter would have had to pay for his mistake out of his own pocket and obviously wasn't prepared to do so. I plan to say hello to him on my way home in 5 weeks time.

Below is a picture of the High Alpes in France about 20 minutes away from Nice airport:

When I arrived, we sped off to Menton, where our apartment is in the Winter Palace [see below]. I can't recall the exact history of the buildings, but I do know that it was Russian-owned back in the days. Hence the name "Winter Palace". A few glasses of Cotes du Rhone later, and I was sleeping like a newborn.

The following day, we set out slowly but surely [see below: picture is taken overlooking the Winter Palace's garden] and strolled the town in search of goodies and settled for a drink by the seaside at a patio. It had been a long time that I had spent any considerable amount of time in France (1999) so I am enjoying seeing what it is all about again. Fanghetto

On day two, I really felt as if I should be hiking (I became a hiking guru while in South Africa). So I succeeded in persuading each family member that this was indeed the best thing to do. We drove about 20 km to a small and very old town in Italy near the French border (about 1 km) called Fanghetto located in the low Alps [see pictures below from the highway]. I had visited this town as a child since my mother was contemplating purchasing real estate there, but decided against it due to the lonely and isolated nature of this town, albeit gorgeous.

The exit road off the highway which led to Fanghetto crossed over a river where we spotted an old Roman Bridge [see below] which is now part of the long hiking trail which runs from Amsterdam to Nice (called the "Grand Randonne 52").

We explored the tiny town for about an hour [see below]. Small pathways, roads and cobblestones all around. Marvelous town with a kind character. The town was "falling apart" years ago, however, more and more Dutch people are purchasing houses there, and are in receipt of government support to fix up the town, or their erfs specifically.

What always strikes me in the old parts of many, if not most, European villages is how tiny the paths are that wind in between the houses. How on earth is one expected to carry a) a kilo of potatoes b) two bottle of fantastic wine c) laundry detergent d) three packs of smokes e) some sparkling mineral water and f) your own body weight up these steep steps through the village to where ever you might live? And to top this all off, imagine you are 80 years old. And they do it, too.

Some more pictures below:

A view from the top of Fanghetto:

We even came across an old mill which either ground flour or olives [see below]. If anyone has any clue what this tool's purpose was, please pipe up and inform the rest... And last, but not least, we stumbled across a balcony [see directly below] which boasted a great view and a well-formed cactus which I took the liberty of taking three pictures of [see below].

Since my readers know how I loooove my flora and fauna pictures (even though Grant informed me that some think they are boring), I have added some more: