I spent the final week of this trip in England. I stayed 3 days in London, primarily visiting with Scarlett, who has been a dear friend for 54 years and counting! It’s always a pleasure to stay with her in north London; her house feels like a second home by now and I know the neighbourhood very well.
While there I had a lovely visit with my ’online’ friend Maia, and a pleasant meander in the quite upscale area around London Bridge, all done up for Christmas.
I also managed to catch a matinee of Waiting for Godot at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. A gorgeous old West End theatre and an excellent production, starring Ben Wishaw. Funny and haunting, as it should be.
Then I hopped on a train to Cambridge and from thence to the village where Mike and his family live. ‘Twas a very blustery day when I arrived, but Mike and I and the boys braved the winds and cold to spend a few hours at Anglesey Abbey, touring the grand house and seeing some actual reindeer (very small!)
Then it was all festivities and small boy excitement – at least for my older grandson (almost 4). The younger one caught the sense of excitement but, at 15 months old, didn’t really have a clue what it meant. We enjoyed Christmas stories and films and of course too much food and a lovely Christmas Eve luncheon with Hannah’s family followed by a fairly quiet Christmas Day, the boys quite delighted with their presents, the parents moderately exhausted.
Christmas Eve sky
It was a very jolly Christmas – and a great trip altogether. Next stop: home! Thanks for all your kind comments – and best wishes for what remains of this holiday season.
By the time we had to say goodbye to Carry-le-Rouet, the town, trails and house had become very familiar. We had our favourite boulangerie, having tried all four and discussed the relative merits of the croissants, pains au chocolat and baguettes (sidebar: French baguettes have changed! They are shorter and wider than before, but still very tasty) . We came to know the owner of a certain wine shop, who helped Diane select a Champagne for her birthday that was NOT known in North America, and his mother, who dropped in as we chatted. We frequented a certain fromagerie and a particular fresh produce shop. We varied our route from the house to the harbour, or the shops, or out into the oh-so-nearby hills.
As our departure loomed, we began to wax nostalgic, but decided we really had to spend a little time away from our oasis. So we took a train into Marseille, in part to see the immersive Van Gogh exhibition – which lots of people have seen elsewhere, but neither of us had. I adored it, having been very drawn to Van Gogh’s paintings and mad tragic life in my youth. In any case, it felt quite magical, to be so immersed in swirling colour.
Then we wandered the big city streets. Marseille is a pretty impressive city with some stunning architecture (that I apparently failed to capture in photos).
We had lunch in a wonderful Italian restaurant, the décor of which was unique and entertaining. Picked up a few more mementos of Marseille and area and tripped back to Carry.
That evening we wandered out along the coastal path and sipped a little Provencal rose watching the sun sink over the Mediterranean, then headed ‘home’ to pack, tidy the villa and prepare to say au revoir – to Carry-le-Rouet and each other (as Diane headed straight back to Canada. I have another week away, which I am spending in England.)
We’d been happily ensconced in our petite village for 3 days when our one and only visitor arrived, Annika from Sweden. She and Diane met 50+ years ago and spent some wild times hitchhiking in Europe and North America, starting at age 19.
After a day showing Annika around Carry le Rouet (shouldn’t really take a day, but…), we left the immediate vicinity – took a 17-minute train ride NW to the town of Martigues, which looked very pretty in the online images.
The train station, as it turned out, was quite a long way from the old (pretty) part of town, so we walked a little more than an hour through a dreary industrial wasteland, feeling rather discouraged. But eventually we reached the old town and it was every bit as delightful as we’d hoped. We meandered the narrow streets, took coffee at an outdoor cafe by the mirroir des oiseaux (a kind of pool). There was water everywhere, as the town is on un etang (translates as pond, but this was a mighty large pond) with a canal to the Mediterranean. It reminded us, variously, of Venice and Amsterdam.
A Christmas market in full swing gave us the opportunity to acquire some small trinkets and to listen to a lively brass band of Santa Clauses.
Before lunch, we thought we’d best figure out how to get back to the train station (without walking) in time for our return train. Easier said than done, as it was Saturday and buses ran irregularly. No one responded when we called a taxi number. Just as we were starting to feel anxious – less than an hour to our train – I remembered Uber and we got a car in good time – though we never got lunch.
That night was Diane’s 70th birthday. We drank real champagne on our glassed-in veranda, while watching fireworks marking the start of the Christmas season here, and went out to the #1 restaurant in Carry-le-Rouet for an authentic regional meal. The restaurant was tiny, the maître d’ very entertaining, but the food was, shall we say, a little too strongly flavoured – at least for Annika and I, who had a pureed fish soup. Really fishy. Diane enjoyed her dish of tripe and organ meats and gristle (!!) The wine was wonderful.
Annika’s last day here was fiercely windy – almost mistral-like, except it only lasted a day. We braved the windy coastline, ate crepes in Sausset-les-Pins, and wandered back to visit our local Christmas Market, where children rode live donkeys and some travesty of a skating rink had been set up – apparently a sheet of plastic, not very slippery!
Then Annika headed home to Sweden, and we had only a few days left in France.
So we have settled very happily into this little seaside town. It is clearly inhabited by the wealthy – lots of grand walled villas with lovely views and manicured grounds. The house we are staying in is also grand but a little rundown, thus very comfortable for us.
NOT our houseView from my bedroom
Except that the heat doesn’t work. We tried to tough it out for a couple of days but then it just got too chilly in the evenings, so I launched a series of messages to pour Airbnb host (who lives in Italy) and his man-on-the-spot, Joel, who might as well be my best friend now). The heating system needs repair which will happen on Monday.. Meanwhiel we at least have a space heater so are doing fine.
We now know the best boulangeries (one of us pops out to get croissants and a baguette first thing in the morning) and epiceries and fromageries in town and feel almost like locals flitting about tonw. The harbour is beautifully decorated for Christmas and there is a Christmas market with a skating rink for the children and tons of stalls selling tempting sweet and Christmas decorations.
We’ve mostly been hiking in and around the town – it is quite easy to walk up into the hills behind the town, and along the shore in either direction. It’s windy along the sea, with waves sometimes crashing right up onto the path.
Diane even went swimming in the mediterranean! I was not tempted, but she said it was not TOO cold – and of course she made a friend.
It’s a little scrabbly underfoot in the hills (so, many visions of twisted ankles or headlong tumbles down steep inclines) but wonderfully quiet, peaceful and wild.
And so we are floating along, enjoying delicious food, ample wines and lots of fresh air and French!
On Monday I left England, flying to Marseille, then catching a train (well, two trains) to the little seaside town of Carry-le-Rouet where Diane and I have rented a ‘vintage villa’ for 10 days.
My trip went quite smoothly but was punctuated by messages from Diane. She’d flown in from Toronto, changed planes in Paris and got to the Marseille airport about 6 hours before I did. Then things went a little haywire for her, as she got a bus to the wrong train station (Marseille rather than the little station right beside the airport). In Marseille first the station was closed, then trains were cancelled, delayed, never seemed to come. Her messages became more frantic, ending with one suggesting she might as well just wait for me at the Marseille station now. No no, I texted, I’m not going there, am taking a more direct route to Carry (one I had suggested to her, but the directions got lost in travel muddle).
At the airport I had looked for the promised free shuttle to the local train station, instead found a taxi driver who knew nothing about shuttles (of course not) but suggested a taxi would be very fast and only cost 10 euros. I paid, got to the station and was then bamboozled by the ticket machines which refused to produce the required ticket for me. There were ONLY machines and 2 tracks, no ‘station’ as such. Slightly desperate knowing the train I wanted was arriving soon, I asked someone. They said, Oh just get on the train and speak to the conductor.
So I did (nervously anticipating outraged and belligerent train staff shouting me down). In the end travelled right to Carry-le-Rouet without ever buying a ticket ( would happily have done so, but no one checked on me). I arrived about 10 minutes before Diane (she’d been travelling for about 18 hours by then without sleep).
We found the big old house – which we love – got out to a bistro for supper, and felt we could then relax and enjoy our stay here.
And so, I am seventy years old. Just like that. I flew into the UK the day before the Big Day, muddled through the usual jetlag fog, and woke up older.
I have been staying in the small village where my son Mike his wife and my two grandsons (ages 4, and 15 months) live. I am growing very fond of this village – possibly because of certain of its occupants.
I am not a bit fonder of English weather. At age 15 I attended boarding school for 2 years in South Wales. My memories of that (really fantastic) time are seen through sheets of driving rain, wind howling in the background and my bones thoroughly chilled day after day. That perfectly describes the weather we experienced this weekend. It seemed appropriate in a full-circle way. Plus ca change, plus c’est la même chose?
I did not do much hiking, but Mike took me out for a quiet lunch – in a very olde Englishe pub. Such a treat to get a couple of hours alone with him! And he created a very touching video compilation of messages from friends and family near and far, which we watched while drinking champagne that evening.
We had special meals and lots of time playing with the boys, who have me completely wrapped around their little fingers. It was a such a treat! (alas I do not have parental permission to post pictures of them l’il angels)
Now I am off to the south of France to spend 10 days in a tiny seaside town west of Marseille, with my friend Diane – still a young pup, she doesn’t tun 70 until Saturday.
So far I am inclined to give this whole aging business a huge thumbs up!
While at my gorgeous manor house, I got to explore a bit of East Sussex. The town of Rye is very sweet (and a good place to buy groceries and baby presents!)
Great Dixter House and Gardens were just up the road from my estate. I spent a lovely afternoon there wandering the 15th century house and incredibly elaborate gardens created by Christopher Lloyd. Though past their prime in late October, they were still impressive!
And as always, some lovely walks in the area.
Back in London I had a whirlwind couple of days meeting friends from the ACER Integration program. I spent an afternoon/evening with 6 good friends I’d never met in person (well Nii was one of them, so 5 really). We wandered around Hampstead Heath, identifying trees, laughing, hugging and learning as much about each other as we could. Then we found a pub and continued animated conversation over drinks and supper. I got to know these people in a carefully curated online community, created to promote sharing and openness, but I am still blown away by just how close one can become to people without ever seeing them in the flesh
On Sunday I met Ros, the genius behind ACER, the mother tree, as it were. Another walk, this time in Hyde Park with her 7-year-old daughter, as the sun started to set, followed by a delicious Chinese supper in Soho – and again, nonstop talk about life, the universe and everything. I regard Ros as a bit of a goddess, so felt pretty lucky to have this time with her. I failed to take a photo.
Monday, I switched gears and took the train to Cambridge to meet my new grandson and spend my last few days here with my son and his family in their new home. They moved, and the baby was born, while I was elsewhere – so it was amazing to see them all relocated and the family expanded. Of course their life is chaotic, with boxes piled high in spare rooms and Baby Tiny making his mewling demands according to whatever schedule suits him – but altogether, they are doing well. I am again struck by how quickly one forgets how life is turned upside down when a new human enters the world. And how absorbing and delightful such new humans can be.
I stayed in an Airbnb in Comberton, another sweet little village near Cambridge. My small chalet (really a bedsit) had an excellent view and was about 20 minutes walk from my son’s house, so I continued to get my steps in – and to get pleasantly lost walking public footpaths that went I knew not where. As a friend said, in Greece, “If you don’t get lost, how will you get found?”
The weather changed – becoming more characteristically English – grey, rainy and chilly. My last night there I arrive back at my ‘chalet’ with the wind howling. As I took my jacket off, a mouse streaked across the floor. I shrieked and thought about alerting my hosts in the house next door, but really what could they do on a dark and rainy night? Then as I tried to drift off to sleep, I heard quite a hubbub of scratching and rustling in the ceiling/roof, a somewhat larger creature (squirrel) preparing its winter abode? I felt the wildlife had truly come to see me off. (And I did alert my hosts of their new tenants the next day.)
Yesterday morning I headed home. An exceptionally smooth trip, much assisted by my friend and lifesaver Diane coming to fetch me at the airport (after I learned my train was to be replaced by a bus with no guarantee of arrival time. I was at home by 6:00pm, in my jammies by 7 (really 11 UK time). It is lovely to be home but also a little disorienting. I have been gone a long time and everything feels just a little strange.
But what an excellent trip all in all, such variety: of weather, countries, accommodations, friends old and new, nature, history, theatre and good food. Most surprisingly (dare I jinx it to say) not a single travel blip, barring a couple of speeding tickets in France. C’est la vie, non?
I’ve been back in England for a little over a week. Spent some time in London (meandering, seeing a show, enjoying down time after all the company in Greece and France), but mostly I have been in the countryside – my happy place.
Last week Scarlett and I went took a train to Tisbury, Wiltshire, to visit Anne, a friend who was one year ahead of us at Atlantic College. I’d had no contact with Anne for many years until about 5 years ago when I joined a team working on a book about the Atlantic College rescue services. Five of us did the research, interviewing 50 years worth of former students and recording their often hair-raising stories about close-call rescues in the freezing Bristol Channel. Anne, an established journalist in the UK, wrote the book; I edited it – so we spent quite a bit of time exchanging emails and messages. It was lovely to see her in person!
Scarlett and Anne
Anne lives in a beautiful old house deep in the countryside – and we had a great couple of days wandering the area, walking with her two lovely lurchers, reminiscing, catching up and playing bridge!
After another brief stay in London, on Sunday I came down to East Sussex where I am housesitting for a week. When I joined the UK-based organization Trusted Housesitters five years ago, I hoped it would provide me with nice places to stay free, and friendly animal company. And it has, but this place is truly spectacular – beyond my wildest dreams.
It is effectively an estate. A long gravel drive to the house, with electronic gates into the walled property. Gardens for days, and stone walkways and a duck pond, grapevines and a meadow, seating areas among trimmed hedges, overlooking the pond, and of course on the broad terrace.
And the house is stunning, beautiful big windows everywhere, 5 bedrooms with ensuite, each as big as my entire ground floor. A gorgeous sun room (they call it the orangerie), immense kitchen, all beautifully equipped and decorated.
Dining room looking out on terraceThe Orangeriekitchenmy bathroom
And a lovely Bengal cat (there is another cat, a wanderer who seems to dine at whatever house strikes his momentary fancy – but I have only caught one brief glimpse. An eat and run sort of cat).
Merlin, the Bengal
Right off the gravel driveway is a hiking trail that goes all the way to Kent. I walked part of it my first day here – fields and sheep and everything pastoral!
The two weeks in Hauterive just flew by. The weather remained gorgeous the whole time. Actually a bit too hot (averaged 30 degrees by mid-afternoon) so we had to get out hiking early.
Using the All Trails app, we found an abundance of hikes, loops around lakes and around medieval hilltop villages, almost always starting in a church yard or cemetery, often involving some pretty significant up and down hills. Stunning vistas wherever we were. And lovely drives along winding roads the width of a driveway (with two-way traffic of course) to reach the trail heads.
I was most struck by how quiet it was. We occasionally saw another car or a person dog-walking, but there was no sound of traffic or burble of voices. Only birdsong and, wonderfully, the odd bit of wind.
After the day’s hike, we might have lunch in a town, or go shopping. We got to know the best boulangeries for croissants and baguettes, and visited a terrific market in St-Livrade-sur-Lot where we found enormous artichokes. But even the supermarket produce, cheeses, meats and wines, were fantastic.
We’d meander in the various villages, loll by the pool, then prepare supper to eat under the wisteria on the back patio – or go out!
Diane and I drove to visit Stratford friends Kathy and Manfred at their charming house in St-Martin-le-Redon. They treated us to a wonderful jolly lunch outdoors in the shade.
Then we proceeded up twisty roads to Chateau de Bonaguil and its old stone surround town.
Another day we went to the caves at Pech Merle… huge underground caverns with remarkable geological formations (stalactites and mites and pearls) and an impressive set of cave drawings dating back 29,000 years. Alas, no photos permitted so I cannot share the visuals but it was quite the experience.
Dinners at Domaine de Bugatel and Les Rives du Plantié were très delicieux, sumptuous in fact!
And our long-distance host (ie the house owner) Judith flew over from London for 24 hours to share Thanksgiving dinner with us. It was delightful to meet her and learn more about the history of the house.
And then, in a flash, it was over. I flew back to London, Diane to Paris. But of course, the memories remain!
So here I am with 3 friends (Paul and Helen from Nova Scotia and Diane from Stratford) staying in a lovely old, slightly rundown French house on the square of the tiny village of Hauterive, near Villeneuve-sur-Lot – in the Lot valley.
The house is charming with high ceilings, blackened beams running higgledy piggledy, old French windows and out back, a patio with immense wisteria (alas not in bloom) overhead, some apple trees, grape vines and a pool – which, delightfully, is still open in October because the temperatures midday hover around 28-30 degrees. At night it drops to 6, the morning it is cool enough to make our hikes delightful.
What are we doing? Wandering the hills and valleys, gorgeous vistas everywhere; shopping for food in the boulangeries and gorgeous big supermarchés, swimming, visiting stone hilltop towns, seeing chateaux, churches and cathedrals, and driving… relaxing. Not a tourism schedule! Although we do have a couple of modest plans for the coming week (caves! Restaurants!)
possibly a Yew tree
But mostly just loving the peace and quiet and the light…
Meg Westley 