Lucky, lucky, lucky and a hippie birthday!

Clive James said of Rio that it was both the most exciting and the most terrifying of places. Greyrocks feels the same about Barcelona! As it has become a hub for the migrations we have the prospect of four journeys a year on the "Line of Fear" connecting the city centre with the airport. By changing trains at a different station it is possible to limit the number of stops through which you pass in a state of tension, but something will still happen. This time there was a jostling at the doors of our carriage. Bob moved to protect the big bags. Ruth grabbed the small ones. There was some shouting and the doors closed with only a couple and their luggage having stayed inside. She was tiny and shaking. He was sturdy and fit. He was holding the ripped-off handle of his wheelie bag, had the bag at his feet and was clutching his wallet. Our Romanian friends had tangled with the wrong man. His wallet was intact  - including his Florida Police badge! A little later a discussion took place between us, them and a fellow passenger who is British but lives in the city. Street crime policy in the city is bonkers, and no good at all for the tourism image!


Anyway we survived, and found ourselves with a few hours at the airport. Terminal 2 is now exclusively budget airlines, and therefore has few facilities that a traveller might need - like signs to tell you that Easyjet operate from a separate building. Frustrated fuming passengers abound, and there is no ATM in that building. Backwards and forwards (we wanted some cash commission-free during this brief window in Spain), grumblings, and then a reminder of how little this was costing! We were off to Milan:- not the Ryanair joke of Bergamo, but a real Milan airport. It was a quick and comfortable flight, and we simply had to ring for the free shuttle bus to take just us to the overnight hotel. Our review says it all. Nice one!
Back at Malpensa (Terminal 2) early next morning we realised that Easyjet has colonised this old building, too! Crowded, dismal, short on catering, badly signed, and - naturally - the added bonus of Italians travelling in packs! More deep breathing! On the plane last (as a Greyrocks policy) we found perfect seats and were soon in Heraklion.


Now, East and West Crete feel about each other rather as do North and South London. We are off the West and would normally fly or sail into Chania, which is civilised  - Heraklion being industrial, dirty, and with the sort of tourists best avoided; but this year we had a cunning plan, which worked to perfection.
First we needed to get to Rethymnon. By taxi this would be an arm and a leg, and by bus a tedious walk between bus stations and would still probably need a taxi for the final part, so we had previously booked with Airport Transfers. This was supposed to be a minibus with up to three drop-offs. It turned out to be exclusive use of a proper taxi, and all for about 23GBP. Our driver took advice on where our rooms were and we were taken to the door, where we were met by the wonderful Lefteris, who said his last studio had been let so we would have to have a bigger apartment. It had two balconies and a sea view for a ridiculous price. When we left two days later he drove us to the bus station. That's a lot of luck!
The beach where we stayed is reminiscent of the Nea Hora area of Chania:- plenty of sand, organised beach areas but plenty of public space, easy entry into the sea and a continuous run of tavernas and bars. The old town is also like a smaller Chania, and probably worth exploring further. We picked a random bar and the owner declared an obsession with Paleochora and brought extra drinks!




From Rethymnon we were bound for the second Matala Hippie Festival. Last year's post has the background to this, and we had built our migration around the re-run:- with some tweaking of the details. First in getting there, we obviously needed just one bus to get as far as Agia Galini, and we had decided that if the wait for the onward next two buses was too lengthy we would treat ourselves to a taxi. (One can never be sure about the buses at Agia Galini as they are operated by the two opposing branches of KTEL, and knowledge is power!) 


It would indeed be over three hours to wait, so after a beer and a chat with the German bar owner we met last year Bob was tasked with doing something creative, and he returned with a privately secured ride to Matala. More Luck! We had also booked accommodation early and had three nights at the Matala Bay Hotel for a very good price. 


On balance the festival as a whole was not quite as wonderful as last year's. First, there was no Angelos Skordilis, who had died in the autumn. - RIP! Second the German efficiency of organisation had been supplanted by something quite else - but more local! Hence there were numerous different programmes in circulation  - none of which matched reality on stages. It didn't really matter - there were some good and some great acts! The pavement painting idea had been extended to include a competition, and there was an interesting range of stuff on sale - not all of it alternative! In fact it was all rather more commercial and mainstream - with a huge influx on the Sunday of Greek day-trippers. We bumped into Welsh Phil and friends from Paleo, and -weirdly - Lefteris from the apartment in Rethymnon!

On Sunday we also bumped into Barry and Judith (see last year's post!) and we led each other astray - getting ourselves thrown out of the Lions Bar at 3am, making Monday daytime activity rather gentle; but by the evening we were ready to go out for a big fish dinner with sparklers to celebrate Ruth's birthday.
Our final stroke of luck in  a lucky week of migration was that they offered to take us to Rethymnon next day in their car -despite our vast luggage - and that then became taking us all the way to our Chania hotel. 
A journey of sun, great company, Cretan scenery and smells and a great dollop of classic music to doze by! Magic!
Luck deserted us, however, when in the Chania hotel lift Ruth dropped the hefty wheelie bag on her big toe - not helping at all the Matala-acquired twisted knee, and the arthritis. There were two tasks to be done that evening before months on end in the (delightful) sticks: duck at Shaghai Lily's and French red wine from Carrefour! These were effected at a very slow pace! Next morning we just got a taste of the improvements to Chania bus station before the 8.30 bus for the final stage.

France in May:- Maybe not - but you do get some bank holidays!

It did stop raining once at least!

There was a lot of weather in France too! We built the month round three stays of about a week each in mobile homes, with the rest of the time in hotels. After spending the night in Dunkerque we drove down to Normandy, found the campsite in Benouville (Pegasus Bridge -  a lot of Dutch and a few Brits with caravans) - and slowly decamped into the mobile home (a very comfortable and modern one). We had just about finished this when it began to rain, and it barely stopped for a week! Bob managed one riverside ride on a somewhat better day, but it was a grim time for rain, wind and cold. The excellent indoor pool was the best Ruth managed in terms of exercise! We made some trips to places we knew from spending each Easter holiday in Normandy during the nineties, we had some pleasant lunches out, we cooked using first class ingredients and we watched a lot of  stuff on the laptop and French TV! On the second Sunday the second round of the Presidential election took place. We were jubilant at the result- of course - but it was interesting to observe that so much less expensive advertising and campaigning  was evident than in a UK general election. Is this austerity or a more intelligent electorate?

The next stop was Availles Limouzine, so that we could spend time with George and Gregory. The weather got better and better as we drove down  - and by the time we arrived in this delightful little spot 10km from Le Queroy (but over both a departmental and regional border) it was - as had been predicted - scorchio! In the years we have been visiting the area the hotel has been dilapidated, closed, bought and renovated by the council and run by a series of couples. It is now a Logis de France. We didn't eat dinner there, and the WiFi was a bit odd, but the rooms are spacious and very tastefully furnished. We enjoyed our stay and the Thursday little market outside. As G and G were very busy with the business and a school trip we weren't able to take them out for a meal, so instead  raided the supermarkets and laid on a spread at their house.

The moles had been there first!

Next we headed over to the Vendée. This was another time-warp stay. We had been to the area three times about ten years ago and thought it was worth a punt! We had found a campsite that would be open and looked well-located in the forest south of St Jean de Monts. We had chosen a cheap and small "cottage", which turned out to be serviceable but was distinctly past its sell-by date in comparison to some of the flash stuff on the site. We wondered why we were put there when the place was virtually empty, but as the week progressed we realised:- French Bank Holidays in May! Foreigners can only look on in amazement and speculate as to when the ponts, bouchons and engorgements will actually happen! The 1st and 8th happen irrespective of day of the week. (This time it was Tuesday.. we stayed off the roads but needed have bothered!) Ascension and Pentecost happen on a Thursday and Monday - 11 days apart and on dates that depend on Easter! Who knows when the hordes will descend? For a few days the facilities were barely open - including the bar where the WiFi was available -, the big jolly bloke on the staff gave daily kisses as he hung around doing nothing, and the indoor pool was a pleasant place to be! By Wednesday evening we sank without trace amongst most of the population of Nantes and Niort, and the big bloke donned a Mickey Mouse suit! So it stopped being a quiet hideaway, but nonetheless the town is OK! Its network of cycle paths has been improved further and is extensive, well-advertised and signed. There is even a Station de Velos at a crucial point with water and air! After the nice man at the bike shop had fixed the brakes on Ruth's bike we did some rides, but the sea temperature was still not good enough - so we had an afternoon in a very pleasant public swimming pool. Excellent food and wine in town, but a bit expensive - catering as it does for French tourists with the many holiday apartments. We left on the Saturday of Ascension weekend, and as we packed up it started to rain!
The three days booked in Agen Premiere Classe were as bad as one can imagine. It was a disgustingly wet drive down. A key road to the hotel had been closed causing yet more navigational mayhem, and then the automatic check-in didn't work! We went over to the Casino mall across the road to kill time and look for a WiFi zone. Nothing that was advertised worked, and the rain just kept coming! Eventually we got into the room, and we barely left it for two days or so! Nothing touristic was worth doing in the rain, things closed down on Sunday and we just hunkered down in the  (very intimate!) warmth with wine, cold food and the laptop! Fellow guests included a set of British guys driving some asphalting lorries down to somewhere and stuffed by the weekend road regulations in France.

By the Tuesday morning we were more than ready to leave, and the rain stopped, giving us a good clear run down via Bordeaux and Toulouse to Agde, where we spent the final week in pretty good weather! we were now between Bank Holidays, so Mimosas was fairly quiet, and we had another excellent mobile with plenty of kit and (now) free WiFi on each plot! There is also an improved cycle path down to the river, and the outdoor but slightly heated swimming pool was in working order. So a good week - at last! We did a number of rides around the different parts of Agde - including a new one across the river - to which we went by ferry!

For the Bank Holiday weekend (!) Agde was en fête with an amazing spectacle of costume, craft, dramatisations and so on celebrating its history (2 600 years allegedly). 

We stayed until the Tuesday, then packed the bikes into the body of Yvette and drove to Perpignan for one last night in France. En route we made a quick stop in Canet, and then thought of moules in the sunshine in St Cyprien; but the weekend must have been just too lucrative and tiring for the restauranteurs as by 2.10pm no-one would serve us! Supermarket ham sandwich then!
We took Yvette next day to her usual resting place, and were transported to the station for the Barcelona airport train. Needless to say that journey had its incident:- but that's another story!