Introduction
France
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| Gardian (cattle herdsman) leading bulls during the Féria de Pâques in Arles |
I like the sense of humour in southern France. It is frequently based on double entendre, and it may not be clear without a good command of the language. In poetry and in jokes words play ambiguous roles, fuelled by the appreciation of socializing and good food. From my first encounters in the Pyrenees and all the way to Provence, my road is seeded with bonheur and savoir vivre.
In the meantime, under Granada's starry night the Lover writes:
Lui, elle l’imagine descendant de son vélo pour boire aux sources, se désaltérant régulièrement aux fontaines des villages. À ses côtés, la mer, fidèle, infinie, qu’il ne se lasse de border. Mer Méditerranée. Je crois que ses coups de pédales sont en train de se caller imperceptiblement au rythme de cette étendue compacte, si massive et pourtant si légère, porteuse, amie. Il la tient des yeux, poursuit la route méditerranéenne, tournant le dos aux constructions de la côte, ayant trop souvent dénaturé ses alentours au fil des années. Puis déjà à Valencia, la belle province, propre, accueillant les cyclistes avec ses pistes de lumière ; la Catalogne, magnifique, verte. ... Col de Banyouls, traversée de la frontière, les Pyrénées, Argelès-sur-Mer, Narbonne, le vent, le froid, la pluie, les étangs, les flamants roses, Montpellier, Arles, ses fêtes taurines de Pâques, ses librairies, son arène, son merveilleux musée romain.
Day 21: Garriguella (Spain) - Argelès-sur-mer (France)
After a good breakfast and a nice chat in Garriguella's bar, I start the way up to cross the Pyrenees. I take the highway to Espolla and from there a long and not-too-steep ascent to Coll de Banyuls, on the border between Spain and France. It is my first international crossing and it is a momentous ride.
Before arriving at Espolla, on the Spanish side, a fairly big boar crosses the highway some meters ahead. Later on, on the road to the col, there is a group of people shooting on a hunting raid. I don't think my boar can make it.
There are a few cars and cyclists but the roads are quiet and the weather is very fine. Sometimes, the strong headwind slows me. From the col there are nice views of the sea, البحر البيض المتوسط (the Mediterranean Sea). It is Sunday, and there are hikers and cyclists both from Spain and France. Two young bikers make me laugh with their typical French jokes.
Great downhill up to Banyuls-sur-mer. I take a sandwich break on the beach. Then I follow Lady G, who has the bizarre idea of driving me up 500 meters during 10 kilometers perhaps to avoid the traffic on the coastal highway. Then comes another ascent and a beautiful downhill up to Argelès-sur-mer.
Sébastien accepted my hosting request through Bewelcome, a hospitality network similar to Couchsurfing. I wait for him outside his house. When he arrives he shows me my bedroom and I take a shower. He is a young Parisian who lives in southern France. He is conscious of nature protection and he has very creative ways to avoid wasting water and energy at home. He is generous with everyone, attentive with neighbours and friends, he loves his children, he is conscious of the planet in which we live.
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| Argelès-sur-mer from Coll de Banyuls |
Day 22: Argelès-sur-mer - Narbonne
I have breakfast with Sébastien and we keep chatting for a good while. Before leaving, he offers me a giant piece of the wonderful pain-aux-olives that he baked himself.
A good rainstorm is threatening my plans for today. The side wind is rather strong and sometimes the gusts are dangerous. I ride on the seaside roads for a while, then on a beautiful rural pathway, alongside the railway tracks, and the last 15 kilometers between a large pond and the Canal de la Robine. This place is very nice but it is now cold and very windy. When I pass Leucate it starts raining and it continues sporadically until I arrive in Narbonne. I wait my new host in a busy bistro while outside it is raining hard.
Pierre-Yves lives on his own in a sort of three-story loft in Narbonne. His place is very nice, large, luminous, decorated with good taste. He shows me my bedroom, very comfortable, in the ground floor. Pierre-Yves is a thoughtful person, intelligent, good observer. He has been an editor with Gallimard travel series, perhaps the best collection of guide books ever published on paper. We go out to have dinner. It will rain tomorrow. Pierre-Yves invites me to stay another day, even if he will not be at home. Couchsurfing is based on trust.
The "hospitality exchange services", as they are styled in Wikipedia, are "social networking services used for accommodation of travellers, where hosts do not receive payments". Opposite to Airbnb, Booking.com and the like, "the relationships on hospitality exchange services are shaped by altruism". I think that Couchsurfing, BeWelcome and Warm Showers (I used these three during my trip) are an excellent way of meeting local people when traveling, and enjoying the pleasure of meeting travelers when at home. Of course, nothing is perfect and sometimes there are occasional misunderstandings, unfulfilled expectations or simply lack of interest or curiosity. But the vast majority of occasions when I stayed with someone during my journey has been a source of meeting amazing people along the way in many of the countries I visited, as it is with Pierre-Yves in Narbonne.
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| Canal de la Robine |
Day 23: Narbonne sous la pluie (Narbonne in the rain)
It is a great storm, with strong winds and voracious rains. I am ready to visit the city. I open the front door but I have to close it back because of the wind. Pierre-Yves's home is so peaceful. I speak to Jerry, my son, and he shares his adventures "down and under" (I tell him that the southern tip of South America is more down and under than Australia). I speak to the Lover, my Moon, Estelle. It is like being in a pleasant island to listen to her calm voice, her laughing, her thoughts. I can see her eyes shining. I also sent a message to my brother-in-law Steve to have a coffee together if he is near Montpellier. I receive good news from Irene and Oscar of Garriguella: it is also raining there and everybody is happy with the end of the drought. They suggest I should visit the village more frequently.
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| Narbonne cathedral |
When the rain stops a little I visit Narbonne's cathedral and the Horreum, an underground public warehouse from the Roman period (there is an obvious connection with the "hórreos" in Galicia and Asturias, built on the houses' roofs to keep cereal and food dry and out of the reach of mice). At the Archbishops' Palace court I am stunned by a monumental hyper-realist sculpture of a beautiful woman in bronze by the Spanish artists Joan Coderch and Javier Malavia. Her attitude is that of the present-day women in many societies, ready to jump for opportunities that before were reserved for men.
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| Walking in Beauty by Joan Coderch and Javier Malavia (bronze, 2022) |
Day 24: Narbonne - Montpellier
Breakfast with Pierre-Yves. Lady G takes me on beautiful narrow paths alongside Canal du Midi and tranquil highways. The air is cool, the sun shines high in the sky.
I fall with the bike. I try to take a highway but there is a level difference with the road shoulder. The flange makes the front wheel twist and I lose balance. Nothing serious happens except that traffic now is heavy and the situation could have been risky. I make a good break.
I arrive at Milan's grandparents' house in Montpellier. Claude welcomes me as a family friend (Milan is Jerry's friend from his time living in this beautiful city). The weather is cold again. Claude's wife Françoise is an ailing aged person and needs attention. There is a big contrast with my physical shape, and that makes me think about my luck. Can it just be "luck" or "destiny"? Sometimes I feel I am in the hollow of God's hand.
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| With fellow bikepacker Gilles at Canal du Midi |
Day 25: Montpellier - Arles
We have a coffee with Claude and Milan and then I am off on the northwards path. Weather is dubious. Perhaps it will rain today or tomorrow.
Very difficult to find the way out of Montpellier. I waste an hour and only at 11.00 A.M. I am on the road. Carnot, La Grande Motte, Le Grau du Roi: eloquent French place names that speak of glorious past. Light traffic highway ahead. A detour on a windy but deserted road goes into the Camargue Sauvage, famous for its lagoons, marshes and white horses. I cross the western branch of the river Rhône ("Petit Rhône) on a small ferry to visit Saintes Maries de la Mer. But the coastal village is still far and I am tired because of the wind. I take a road on the other side of the river, now with fairly strong headwind.
I arrive in Arles a bit late. I stay in the Auberge de la Jeunesse (seems like a joke given my age - but I am not the only senior citizen staying here). The weather is worsening by the hour.
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| Camargue horses near Saintes Maries de la Mer |
Day 26-28: La pluie et la fête in Arles
Wind gusts of 40 km per hour. Abysmal weather. In the playroom of the Auberge a group is watching the rain that falls almost horizontally. The weather reports shows rain for tomorrow and Sunday as well. It may improve on Monday.
This place is very nice. Clean, cheap. Simple shared rooms. Not too calm. Aged guests happen to be noisier than the young crowd. Seba, the manager, is French and has been married to an Argentinean woman. He speaks Spanish with a thick accent of Buenos Aires. He gives me yerba and mate to drink during these days. Also, very important, there is a guitar available. I feel good here.
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| Drinking mate and playing guitar at Auberge de la Jeunesse, Arles |
I take the advantage of having a lot of free time to pay a visit at Arles' Decathlon. I want to see their camping gear. I also go to the automatic laundry with my dirty stuff.
Today is Good Friday. At home in Granada and in other Andalusian and Spanish cities, Christs in agony and weeping Virgin Marys are being solemnly paraded through the streets by hooded "cofrades". But the Holy Week celebrations in Arles take a very different colour. Everybody here is preparing this evening's big party, the "Féria de Pâques". This event is the opening of the French bullfighting season and attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors. During four days, regardless of the dim weather, the city is busy with corridas, equestrian shows, music and the bandido (from the Provençal language, bandir or fòrabandir, to expel). During this dangerous entertainment, bulls run before a noisy crowd and are led by gardians (cowherds on horseback). At night, according to France-Voyage website, "the spectators and merry-makers meet in the city's bodegas to drink sangria and dance at banda concert in a festive, sociable atmosphere". Definitively not the atmosphere in Andalusia during these days.
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| Merry-makers at Arles's Féria de Pâques |
Walking through Arles: the Arena, the cathedral, the shops, the whole city is a big party. I find a jewel: Le Méjan/Actes Sud. It comprises a beautiful book and music shop, a restaurant, a hammam and a series of small movie theaters. I come back later to watch a wonderful film with original voice, Wicked little letters.
On Saturday more people arrive in the Auberge. A boisterous group with characters like those in the French comedies such as Camping or Le Père Noël est un Ordure. There is also a typical fanfare, a brass band, rehearsing at full volume. I speak with Jean-Pierre, from Nouvelle Caledonie, and Joe about poetry, travel, sociology, philosophy, ... Yes, I do feel in France. I play the guitar. I hang out with Jacoe, from Kentucky, USA. We go together to the bulls event. Then arrives in the shared room an unusual man from Marseille - he speaks all the time, even when he is alone in the bathroom. This morning, when I was meditating on my bed he started: Ah vous méditez... moi aussi, je crois que c'est important pour la santé, etc. etc. (ah you meditate... so do I. I think it is important for one's health).
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| Old houses by River Rhône in Arles |
Sunday, still at the Auberge under moody skies. I cannot sleep well with the snoring and collateral noises. Downstairs, the merry-makers laugh, shout, dance, sing, fight (and drink a great deal). Some lady's cries are piercing my ears. French way of life is a curious mix of culture and material sociability. There is an underlying search for bonvivant pleasure and recognition. I love it, this joie de vivre.
I am worried about crossing the Alps. There is little information about this part of the itinerary I will have to face before or after arriving in Italy. I consult friends and websites. Fiore (an Italian Warm Showers member who stayed at home in Granada) sends a good track recommendation from Menton (France) to Italian Piedmont crossing the Apennines.
Max la Ménace, the Marseillais, is up to my limits. He talks when he is awaken; he snores when sleeping. It is still raining outside. I read Kafka's depressing short stories (In der Strafkolonie). I play a sad tune with the guitar (Manhã de carnaval).
Day 29: Rambles in Provence (Arles - Robion)
Finally! The good weather arrives to the south of France and I am cheerfully riding again my bike. It is nice to visit towns and landmarks but I also experience an exhilarating magic in the constant advance.
The beautiful architecture in Arles swiftly evolves into a fine rural landscape. I ride through narrow back roads until Tarascon with its nice fortress beside River Rhône. Crossing the river a bit of effort is needed to cover the hilly area of Aramon leading to Les Angles. I cross the Rhône river back to Avignon, and I take my time to visit the impressive Palais des Papes. Then I head to L'Isle sur la Sorgue, a wonderful village with waterwheels on its river, then to Cavaillon (famous for the water melons) and I finally arrive in Robion at the same time than my hosts.
Lily and Clément are young agronomists and enthusiast cyclists. Very often they receive other cyclists through the Warm Showers platform. They met while in the university and they have plenty of travel projects. We have a good chat over dinner with this very nice people. I go to bed with a soar throat, regretting not having worn a jacket during the sunny but chilly day.
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| Old bridge near L'Isle sur la Sorgue |
Day 30: Robion - Apt
Robion and Apt are at a short distance. I could cover it in less than two hours but I decide to make various visits and detours between both towns.
This area is world-famous for its beauty. The lavender plantations are ubiquitous. It is not yet the flowering season, but they are an addition to the palette decorating the hills, with wild flowers, forests and rivers running in the depth of small valleys. I first follow a glorious cycle path through vineyards and apple trees. Then I turn north to the handsome village and castle of Gordes. During World War II, Gordes was a stronghold of resistance. In a German reprisal, many buildings were destroyed and had to be reconstructed after the war. There is an open market in the access to the castle and I buy a slice of tasty (and quite dear) quince sweet.
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| With Swiss passionate world cyclist Claude Marthaler ("The Yak") |
Near Roussillon I stop at Claude Marthaler's farm. Claude, "The Yak", is from Geneva, where years ago we watched with my wife a documentary presented by the Swiss cycling association Pro Vélo. Hamada, livreur de pain (translated as Bike for Bread in the English version) shows the unique ways of bread distribution in Cairo. At the presentation, Claude and Raphël Jochaud commented on the amazing way bread is carried by cyclists who use a large plate with plenty of round loaves on their heads. Claude is a cyclonaute who has spent 16 years of his life on the pedals, including a seven-year world tour in 1994-2001. He published over ten books on the theme of cycling and a couple of TV documentaries have been dedicated to him. We chat about our common passion, the bicycle, and he tells me about his research on Paul de Vivie ("Vélocio") (1853-1930), a pioneer bikepacker who was in the avant-garde of the cyclist movement.
Following this great encounter I rapidly ride to Apt. After some windy uphills and a flat tyre I arrive at the apartment of my next host, Xavier. He is an architect and a specialist on renewing medieval chapels and historic buildings. He gives life back to old constructions so that the people can enjoy them again. Our stimulating conversation takes much time over dinner. I am tired but I am enticed by the ideas of this profound conceptual designer. I only go to bed hoping that the chat will resume tomorrow morning.
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| Xavier in Apt |
Day 31: Apt - Manosque
Flat tyre when still in Apt. I go to a bike shop near Xavier's place. I wait with coffee and a croissant at a most typical bistro. The day started with some rains but is sunny now. Everybody knows each other here. People arrive and say hello to everyone and cast curious glances to the foreigner. I smile to them but the eyes look elsewhere. I am rather cross today, I am anxious and desirous to move forward.
Another short cycling day. After spending time at the bike shop on a chat with the owner and his clients, I start on very nice side roads along the Calavon river. I ride on the beautiful cycleway in Luberon Park.
Ten kilometers before Manosque I make the mistake of booking again a room through Airbnb. On arrival the manager is not there. An hour or more later comes a tenant who is just moving in. He opens the front door and shows me the place: a messy living room, a dirty bathroom and kitchen, unmade beds and plenty of cigarette butts. Here too putting a price to everything means no human sensitivity to others' needs, no communication, not even a direct look at the eyes. I delete the Airbnb application from my phone (without forgetting to write a comment about this ugly place).
I go out and have a good kebab in a nearby joint. There is an old lady smartly dressed sitting at another table. She has a rather incongruous aspect in this place. She is having a kebab on the dish and eats very slowly while sipping from her mineral water. She looks very serious. She looks like crying softly, but I am not sure. I write on my notebook and read a book. I pay and go out, from where I can see her gaze through the glass. She looks at me with a sad smile. For some reason that night I think on the encounter with the weird man some days ago while riding in Spain. They resemble one other.
Day 32: Manosque - Fayence
Today I celebrate the first month of my tour, and the first two thousand kilometers. But I am so tired for celebrations...
The first section of the road is quite easy and without much problems. I find my way on back roads without much traffic and on fairly flat ground. When I ride on a wasteland with few trees, the traffic starts to be annoying. Gréoux-les-bains, Lake Sainte Croix, and I am now in Var department.
I perceive certain animosity from drivers. As a rule, truck and bus drivers are very professionals and I feel more or less in security with them. As for car drivers, on these highways there is a strange dynamic. They speed up, they drive like crazy on groups of five to ten vehicles very close from each other. Sometimes they honk loudly presumably at me (it is not a greeting). Sometimes their distance when they overtake me can be measured in a few centimeters. Roads narrow and shoulders disappear. Now it is the rush hour, with people coming back home. Traffic becomes heavier than anything else I have seen before. There are many, many, so many cars! The traffic never stops, always moving at a high speed, with no congestions. The topography changes as well, with long sections of descending roads.
I get lost. I have to go up and back a few times. The sun is disappearing behind the trees. I am very tired and I don't like this place. But I think I will have to pitch the tent somewhere. Someone, something, is shouting in the forest. I firstly take it for ugly birds chirping. But it is too human, too cruel. And this eerie thing is yelling at me. I am sweating and shaking.
I call today's host, Jeff, and his voice on the phone sounds like bells on heavens. He picks me and the bike up and we ride on his car twenty kilometers up to his house. Jeff and Rachel are fantastic hosts. After the shower she presents a large plate with all types of cheese and crudités. We have a good talk. They are a spirited couple, the typical good-humoured and generous people one can find in the south of France. They make me appreciate the hospitality networks more and more. I am exhausted and we all go to bed. But I don't sleep well. I am still scared.
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| Jeff and Rachel at home in Fayence |
Day 33: A sunny place for shady people (Fayence - Nice)
I thought yesterday's traffic was bad. Today is worse. After a great and hurried breakfast with Jeff and Rachel, I start from their nice house on the busy roads of this whirlwind that is the south-east of France. Trucks, buses and, especially, so many cars speeding up in the morning rush hour. A small distraction could be fatal in these highways with no shoulders. There is no break during hours. I am really tired.
After Montaroux I arrive to Colle Noir castle. The highway leads to Peymeinade and then Grasse, sometimes through the forest. Finally a quieter road goes up to La Colle sur Loup and, from there, a long descent towards Nice.
Cars here are big, new, clean. They not only are, but they look, expensive. There are few people outside in the streets. Lots of glamorous houses where the poor could not afford to live. On the way down, I stop to have my sandwich. I see a rare view during my journey. A prostitute is hitch-hiking on a bus stop near the highway. She does not look at me but, when someone picks her up, she smiles from the front seat on my direction. It is a warning: in this region many things, including love, are on sale.
I arrive to Cagnes-sur-mer, fourteen kilometers before Nice, where lives my next host. Sabrina (from Warm Showers) is a research and development engineer working with the well-known Amadeus airline reservation system. In her profile she warns guests: "if you are planning to come to my place to put your feet under the table and only be served, you are not at the right address. I don't expect gifts and don't ask you to bring anything but your good will, your spirit of exchange and mutual aid is requested." Profiles are usually friendly texts. Not this one. They seldom express expectations in this way.
When I arrive, Sabrina is working online and speaking with colleagues. I wait over two hours downstairs. She finally arrives and we go up to her nice apartment. She has to leave so I make myself comfortable and eat something after a shower. She arrives in the evening and we chat a bit. I notice that she does not want to hangout and I go to bed. I feel uneasy here. There is something threatening but I cannot say what it is.
A few weeks later, echoing her own profile, Sabrina writes about me in the platform. "I'm always surprised when cyclists arrive empty-handed and leave as they arrived, without even offering to come and see them one day. This type of behaviour remains a mystery to me". I am taken aback reading this. Apparently, she hoped I would bring some sort of gift even if she didn't "expect any gifts and don't ask you to bring anything". She also expected that I invited to our home in Spain. I don't know why I didn't invite her but I got a sense that she would be a difficult person.
This has been the rare occasion in which a host encounter was not positive. Thanks God there have been so many great experiences except this one. I cannot agree more with Somerset Maugham: "The Riviera is a sunny place for shady people" (Strictly Personal, 1942).
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| One of the bourgeois villas in Nice |
