Sun in the south of France: getting here was almost as much fun.
It was raining when we reached Paris but I didn’t mind. After Scotland’s cold apology for summer it was warm, welcoming rain and within minutes of getting off our Eurostar we were clinking glasses of wine in Terminus Nord. If we had come by plane we would still be trying to get out of the airport; instead we are sitting down to a three course meal before catching the next train. So comfortable it is tempting to stay but we are only half way on a 1200 mile journey towards the Spanish border and the best could be yet to come.
This is the way to travel. I had a book in my bag (Alice Walker’s You Can’t Keep a Good Woman Down) but no real intention of opening it. After months of hacking away at the word face all I really wanted to do was look out of the window and watch the miles glide by: buddleia and graffiti marking the way in and out of stations; fields and trees blurring into a soothing green line as the train picked up speed again.
I have no idea how much CO2 we saved by travelling on a train, I simply enjoyed every minute of not being on a plane; none of that nonsense of taking your shoes off coming through security, none of that mind-numbing trek through shopping malls. There are plenty of shops at the new St Pancras Eurostar terminal but they don’t feel as if they are the point of the place.
Ray and I were rediscovering a more human way of travelling, enjoying the journey almost as much as the destination
Perhaps I am perverse, waiting on a station platform is not everyone’s idea of fun, but we were on holiday and Ray had built in stops along the way. To see Jean and David in Oxfordshire we took a detour via Didcot, to visit John and Sue’s amazing adventure in France we got off our comfortable SNCF train at Gourdon. In this small town near Cahors there are lively demonstrations against plans to close the station and all power to the protests!
One of the views that inspired Charles Rennie MacIntosh but you have to get out of the car to see it.
After a week of gentle meandering we reached the Mediterranean where the sun shone on Collioure. Ironically, having travelled all the way by public transport, the one thing we didn’t like about our destination was the constant stream of cars in and out of this otherwise delightful old-fashioned family resort where musicians play every night in a different square.
But by day Collioure is congested. The town car park is permanently full and there are
cars parked on every verge and spare patch of ground. Walking along the busy road from our tiny apartment down to the harbour Ray and I saw cars pull up briefly so tourists could snap the views that inspired Matisse, Derain and our own Charles Rennie MacIntosh. Sometimes they didn’t even bother to get out of the car. If I was mayor I would ban the buggers.
Collioure is beautiful but it could learn from Dubrovnik and Venice: old towns are much more beautiful when you can walk round at a leisurely pace without the noise and smell of traffic.
Rant over. We would go back to Collioure but would look for an apartment in one of the narrow old streets away from cars. And we would definitely go by train. All in all, I reckon we covered 2,500 miles on 11 trains. Plus one tube, two metros, one RER suburban train and one coach – to see Betty in Glinton on the way home we took a Sunday diversion to Peterborough and, of course, UK railways seize up at weekends.
I will now ask Ray for prices and railway booking details…
Almost home: Glinton was our last stop on the return journey to Edinburgh
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