After our lunch we charged on for Coquelles, to find our Kyriad – cheap, and only 10 minutes from the Channel tunnel.
We arrived in a snowstorm at minus 2 degrees Celsius. The ‘lady’ receptionist was indifferent to the point of rudeness. She said we could not have a fresh coffee from the dining room – only one from the machine in the hall. We said ‘Please – We will pay. We have driven all the way from the other side of Poitiers.’ She reluctantly poured us each a small cup from the pod machine, charging €1.25 each, which was very expensive at that time.
I wished we’d opted for the evening meal there. The starters looked temptingly good, but we had declined, sight-unseen. In the event, after travelling some further miles, we could find nowhere. Our last night in France ended in the hotel room, nibbling a stale baguette end and drinking water. Serve us right for being such snobs…
In the morning there was an equally terse young man on the front desk, who reluctantly offered us a tiny cup of coffee for €2.50 each. Gerroff!
FOLKESTONE – AND HOME!
29th November.
White Cliffs of Dover
It was minus 2°C when we scraped the ice off the windscreen of our car, and we left with totally empty bellies for the EuroShuttle entrance ten minutes away. We were lucky, and grateful, to be able to drive straight onto the train standing ready – an hour earlier than we’d booked.
THE FULL BRITISH
Emerging at the other end we turned into Folkestone High Street and discovered ‘Dawn’s Delight’. There we enjoyed enormous Full English breakfasts with steaming mugs of tea for the amazing price of (if I remember aright) of £2.95 each – such a refreshing departure from most of Rip-Off Britain!
And after that we had a ride through frosty scenery all the way back to Cousin Clive and Marion’s house in Somerset. We gave some of Claude’s precious woods to a happy Clive. We called Marion in and invited both to pick ‘first choice’ of the Christmas presents we had bought. We also unloaded some Basilicatan and French goodies for them; but all this only after a cup of tea!
They live on the Somerset Levels and as so often, kindly fed us and put us up for two nights.
We returned home late in the afternoon on December 1st. 2016.
WE HAVE OUR MEMORIES TO ENJOY – WILL WE MANAGE TO GO SO FAR AGAIN?
We experienced amazing scenery; majestic mountains and lovely lakes: warm seas, hot sands – and in both France and Italy lots and lots of history, both ancient and renaissance.
BUT WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE,
THE GREATEST REWARDS IN TRAVELLING ARE THE PEOPLE!
(Clicking on the names above will take you to some of the posts describing them)
We have made so many good friends through travelling. Since that holiday we have had invitations to stay as personal houseguests from four of our B&B hosts, and have enjoyed boundless hospitality. Others, as stated, have nursed us and been very generous. The family from Thiers (now firm friends) stayed with us in early May 2019. They were intrigued by the mirrors we judiciously placed to ‘enhance’ the space in our tiny courtyard garden.
We hope we will be visited by the other friends we made – and that their bookings will always be full.
We went over to Pompeii to share our 40th wedding anniversary with our ‘Italian Family’.
Our Italian Family
Again we were taken to Andrea and Antonella’s comfortable house overlooking the town. As Graham walked in bearing the loaf he had bought that morning, Andrea, our host, shouted in delight: “Matera bread! Bellissima!” (Matera’s bread is famous all over Italy; that country where food is revered as much as in neighbouring France).
Andrea straightway cleared away the pre-laid baskets of bread, and bore the Matera loaf away to be cut up and presented in its stead.
After a starter I cannot remember – only that we found it delicious, washed down with the wine we had brought, came salad, followed by toasts to us on our 40th wedding anniversary. –
Pompano
GRAHAM DOESN’T ENJOY FISH – BUT REALLY ENJOYS EATING POMPANO
– And then Andrea brought from the kitchen a whole Pompano he had cooked. Even Graham, who on the whole has to be coaxed to eat fish, cleared his plate. He then, to the delight of Andrea, mopped up the juices with a hunk of the aforementioned Matera bread.
– AND I PIG OUT ON ANTONELLA’S DESSERT
The ‘boys’ had all dashed over to the couch by then, while Antonella’s dessert was handed round. It was a chocolate and hazelnut torte or cake, if memory serves. Both husband and wife are excellent cooks (well, to my knowledge Andrea always cooks the fish).
LOCALS CELEBRATE US – DULY TOASTED – ‘IL FOOTBALL’ TAKES OVER
They all rushed to explain that there was a major football match about to start on the television; (Napoli v Milano, Graham says.) Due attention having been paid to our Wedding Anniversary, the entire family now squashed onto the couch for the Main Event.
Graham and Antonella perched on the arms. Every eye was glued to the screen. Italians are just as intense about their football as we English (with notable exceptions).
I am one, though out of politeness I tried not to show it.
LOCALS CELEBRATE – Le FIVE ‘FOOTBALL FANS’
When Vincenzo offered to give his place to me I said I was happy to sit on a chair to the side, as I was ‘so full of food’. I quickly learned which team to cheer for, and which to shout down. My consolation was that so many of the footballers were real Hollywood Beefcake material. Italians are, taken as a whole, an extremely good-looking and sexy race.
Of course, being Italians, and Italian football fans at that – and Napoli just down the road, there was as much shouting and punching of the air as if we were in a stadium.
LOCALS CELEBRATE US – GIVE ANNIVERSARY PRESENT
After the match was over we gathered our things to go back to La Casa di Plinio, where we had our usual room reserved (but at no charge, they insisted). Antonella disappeared, to return swiftly with a present for us. It was a lovely warm, furry comforter blanket. We are both currently enjoying it now this winter has REALLY kicked in. It is on our bed, giving extra warmth on cold nights – but is as light as a feather. We think of our lovely ‘family’ each night and morning.
LOCALS CELEBRATE ANOTHER ‘BIT OF A DO’ – MASSERIA MAZZAPEDE
We also had an inkling there’d be a ‘bit of a do’ back at the Masseria in Grottole on the Sunday; to celebrate the return from Rome of the elder son. But, even though Giuseppe had only just learned of it, we felt our Wedding Anniversary would not be forgotten! We had strict instructions not to be late for the lunch.
Sunday, 30th October:
LOCALS CELEBRATE AT MASSERIA MAZZAPEDE -A FAMILY REUNION –
AND OUR 40TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
We hurried back for the Celebration Barbeque at 1pm.
On the Veranda at Masseria Mazzapede
A DOUBLE CELEBRATION – FAMILY REUNIONS – A LOVELY CHILD
Giuseppe’s brother Alfonso had come from Rome with his friendly wife and their little girl; a child so beautiful she took our breath away. She had long, glossy chestnut hair and those smoky, truly grey eyes that are so rarely seen in Britain. One might come across them more often in Southern Ireland – but we had also noticed a glamorous beauty with those identical assets on a couple of episodes of “Inspector Montalbano”.
LOCALS CELEBRATE WITH A TYPICAL ITALIAN FAMILY MEAL – A LONG TABLE NEEDED!
This little girl was pleased to meet with her young cousins; also the granddaughters of Giuilia’s best friend. This time the veranda was filled with the long table – about twenty people seated. I imagine every Italian family must have these folding tables stashed away somewhere. Everywhere in Italy you see these family feasts. When there is a special Saint’s Holiday the residents will be joined by visiting American, Canadian and Australian cousins. We found it the most heart-warming sight.
LOCALS CELEBRATE – A SPEECH IN TWO LANGUAGES – SIGNORA GIULIA RICCARDI
Giulia with Jackie
Giuilia made two speeches. One in Italian, of welcome to Alfonso and his family, who we gathered could not get time away often enough for his mother. Next came a lovely one in two languages saying how much they had loved meeting we Ushers. We heard repeated references to our many good qualities. It was hard to recognise ourselves, and we joshed each other afterwards.
LOCALS CELBRATE US – WE RECEIVE MORE LOVELY GIFTS
We were also presented with lovely gifts. I was especially touched to be presented with a large embroidered tablecloth, clearly a treasured heirloom. If only I could let Giulia know that I too treasure it.
LOCALS CELEBRATE WITH A SPECIAL HEART-SHAPED CAKE FOR US
And she had baked another of those wonderful, unique lemon-filled cakes. There was another in the shape of a heart, topped with the icing figures ‘4’ and ‘0’. It was filled with raspberries and pink cream. Giulia presented it to us ‘For your Wedding Anniversary.’ We cut and shared it with full and happy hearts.
LOCALS CELEBRATE THE IMPORTANCE OF ‘FAMIGLIA’
Family means everything to Italians – and friends are enclosed into the family. It will not take long to be received as their friend. I love these openhearted, direct Italian people so much.
Vivien had already stayed a week in Napoli (Naples) to explore that town; also Pompeii and Herculaneum. We feel that Herculaneum gives a quicker, less tiring overview of domestic living in Roman times and Vivien agrees.
I have to point out that Pompeii shows more of the ‘Grandeur’ of Ancient Rome – but it is a vast site. I would still like to explore the side of Pompeii that was mostly closed in 2011 and is now open – but not sure if I can now manage all those cobbled streets.
Pompeii
Do both if you are keen, but allow two days to thoroughly explore Pompeii, however fit you are. (It can be very hot to walk around exposed to the sun and with little shade, even in October.)
Vivien decided that rather than come by train (about 1 hour) she would take the bus from Naples to Matera, which took four hours, as it stopped at many small towns and the route was via Bari. I do not know if Vivien was prepared for the age of most buses in Southern Italy, but she is a well-seasoned traveller and takes any discomfort in her stride.
A SMALL STREET MARKET
Matera Market
Vivien’s bus was due in around noon, so in the morning Graham and I went to find a street market on the outskirts of Matera. I was genuinely curious, wondering if Italian markets resembled the high quality of those we had found in France; I hoped to find cheeses and fruit from local farms.
It was not that sort of market, although I bought peaches – amazed at the huge bag that 6 euros bought. (When we got home all the peaches were bruised, so I cut them up and boiled them . Some went into a couscous I made, but I re-boiled the rest with sugar.)
This market was on a hill at the very edge of modern Matera and overlooked miles of country, including our ‘own’ Lake Giuliano. It was a tatterdemalion affair, such as you often find here in Britain; the crowded street a riot of colour from carpets, scarves, and jewellery winking in the sun; and, as usual, clothes. I was at last able to buy some American cloth for our kitchen table in a design that appealed, and that I could not find back in Britain (where so many patterns are just wrong for our 1900 farm-type kitchen).
SAVING NERO’S BACON
Also, it cost only 10 euros to replace my ruined, worn-once blouse, eaten by that wretched dog. Giuseppe said he had no name, so I called him Nero.
Nero
He is really a pretty young fellow, with a glossy black coat, despite never being groomed. He has never been trained, either, which is why he jumps at you, and bites – though he only made me bleed once. The poor creature is lonely, and starved for love. I would talk very quietly to him, and that seemed to calm him down, and he would come and lay his head in my lap. But he will never learn, I fear. We wonder how he is now, as Giuseppe planned to leave all the animals throughout the winter to ‘go down to the farm below’ on their own – he wanted them to become ‘working’ animals. In other words, he wanted feral cats – and the dogs to become guard dogs. BUT: I have to remind myself that Giuseppe is trying to ‘bring-back’ the farm, long neglected, and that even in animal-loving England our farmers keep ‘working dogs’ and dogs to guard the stock, and few of these ever enter the house.
VIVIEN’S IMPATIENT – FOR THE SASSI
Looking down into the Sassi
Though a bit travel-weary when she at last climbed down from the somewhat vintage coach, Vivien was avid to see the Sassi – she even declined the offer of coffee or a cold drink. We took her to the squares at the top, where she could easily look down on the entire ruined city – now fast being cleaned up and restored… Of course, she could not wait to find an entrance and explore further – who would not? Matera Sassi district is one of the wonders of the world…
The Sassi made of intimate piazzas
It is always a pleasure to introduce people to places you like and know a bit about, however sketchy; and we felt satisfaction when upon first peering through the three arches in a smart piazza at the top of the old town, Vivien’s eyes sharpened with keen interest.
“I can’t wait to get down there,” she said, and so we set off to explore, descending steps and ramps until we reached some ancient cisterns. It was at that point that I remembered that she who walks down must walk up again, so I left the other two to explore further and made my leisurely way back up. Once in the principal piazza I took a look around the Duomo. This white cathedral had a glass inset in the floor, through which you could view the very much older crypt church beneath. All of Matera is built ‘literally standing on top of one another’, but when it comes to truly ancient churches there is a special enchantment.
NOWHERE LIKE ITALY FOR ICE CREAM
Gelateria Matera
Deciding it must be high time to return to the larger piazza where they hoped to emerge, I took myself off to one of the best Gelaterias in Italy – and that is a tall order.
There was always a queue worthy of any in Britain outside the modest frontage of Il Vizi degli Angeli Laboratorio di Gelateria Artisanale. While waiting in line I studied the board to pick a flavour new to me – not a difficult task, as the list was long. I remembered trying fig, having never come across this blissful tongue-tickler in England.
EVER TASTED FIG ICE CREAM?
Oh, what bliss! I’m not especially partial to figs, especially the ‘fresh’ ones found in British supermarkets; and I can take or leave those sticky dried ones you buy in little boxes for Christmas. But in ice cream! Spotting Graham and Vivien coming across I persuaded them to try it, too (of course, they insisted on cautiously taking a lick each of mine first – and I did not get ‘licks’ back when they triumphantly brandished their overflowing cones, just as I was dumping the last of my dripping cornet in the rubbish bin.) We spent the next half hour or so ‘people watching’ and wandering the lanes of interesting and chic little shops; carefully hurrying past a certain little ceramic studio.
3rd October:
INTRODUCTIONS
Giuseppe had yet to meet Vivien. She was still in bed at about nine o’clock when I woke her up asking if she’d like a cup of tea. I don’t think she was overjoyed. We tend to wake up so early these days, and Graham would put the alarm on for 6am in order to write.
I stayed in bed until 7, but it seemed much later, so after washing some clothes and myself I did my unwelcome hostess act. No wonder she was tired – she had just done four days hard walking around hot and sweaty Naples, and day trips to both Pompeii and Herculaneum.
I can’t help thinking that the 4.5 hr coach ride yesterday must have been bumpy and hot, too.
GRAHAM – GOURMET DISH for GARDEN CRITTERS
The overgrown garden
Vivien was very welcome, not least because she brought a much more effective remedy than ours to tackle all those mosquito bites. These pests seem to smell Graham from miles off: (‘Hee, hey, ho hum – I smell the blood of an Englishman’) and zoom in for the feast. My poor husband is covered in angry red bumps, which itch and burn like mad. At home it is I who attract the insects – perhaps, like all Italian men, they treat foreign women with courtesy?
An old pergola supporting an old rare grape vine
This tube of stuff came in very handy when Graham took her to explore the villa’s lush garden, exuberant with greenery forever encroaching upon the lawns. The creation many years ago, mainly of Giuseppe’s father and late grandfather, it was now an enchanting jungle where the odd statue, marble table, or broken fountain hid amongst the profusion of palms, vines, pomegranate trees and every sort of shrub, both northern European and exotic – many that you only see at home as pot plants (often houseplants, and very small.) Vivien endeared herself to Giuseppe, and even more his father Mimi, by her keen interest in, and appreciation of the abundance in this ‘almost forest’ as Giuseppe called it. Whenever Mimi arrived, they made great efforts at bringing it back to its original, formal glory; but we Brits just loved to dive into the lush greenness.
It was a relief to be finally organised – moving all our stuff (luggage, clothes, make-up, etc.) into the bigger bedroom, leaving the small one for our great friend Lolly, who was due to land at Bari airport the next evening.
It was a relief to be finally organised
I was immediately charmed by watching the swaying, just outside our window, of the huge leaf of a large tree fern that reached up from the ‘jungly’ garden a good way below. We would watch this every morning when we woke up.
A large, ornate bed, which was marred by missing and peeling walnut veneer, dominated our white-painted room – it must have been beautiful once. Flanking it were two rather grand oak and marble bedside cupboards, also dried-out looking, and with small parts missing. Clearly no one had lived here for any length of time in many years.
A very modern LED ‘half-coil reading’ lamp had been placed on each cupboard, for which we were grateful. There was also an Ikea chest of three drawers. It was some time before the spare linen was moved out of the central drawer but eventually I was able to completely empty our suitcases. A rack of five coat pegs hung on one wall, and throughout our stay that was our wardrobe.
The fly screen in the window failed miserably to keep out the vicious tiny mosquitoes, and the ointment we had brought with us, also a spray we were given, failed to divert them from Graham’s flesh, apparently more appealing than mine. They feasted on him throughout our stay. Even Giuseppe got bitten because, he said, they are a new strain come over from Africa. A result of Global Warming.
(NOTE: And I found three after we got back home; two just alive on our bathroom window in late December, and one dead corpse that fell out as I hand-washed a sweater in January. They are quite different from English mosquitoes – much smaller and blacker).
We saw Mother Cat that morning. Half feral, she came to partake of the dogs’ food, and sometimes to steal from her offspring.
The Corso Vittorio Emanuele an elegant main street in BariOne of the many hidden arched alleyways in the Citta historica
ELENA WANDERS OFF.
In the afternoon, we left early to meet Lolly’s ‘plane, leaving time to explore the wonderful old inner city of Bari before locating the edge-of-city Ikea, to buy cutlery and saucepans for our kitchen at Giuseppe’s request.
We had timed our day in order to walk round and see the sights. First, we enjoyed a leisurely lunch, seated in an outside ‘enclosure’ on the grand main street of the city.
Giuseppe had asked us if we would give Elena a lift in, and bring her back with us.
She declined to lunch with us, preferring to go off on her own, saying she had friends to visit. As we got out of our car Graham explained very carefully that she must be back by the car by ten to four pm, as our parking ticket ran out by then, and there would be delays and a very large fine if we did not move off.
Elena showed us her mobile phone, and Graham took down her number, and wrote ours down for her, again emphasising the need to return to the car in time. She laughed gaily and trotted off.
We hardly got beyond the gates of the old city because we were anxious not to incur a fine, and we had to find our way back to the car. It took a while; the streets back to the main thoroughfare were long, and they all looked very much alike.
It turned out that we spent almost the entire afternoon driving round and round the modern city trying to find the Russian girl who had blagged this lift and then made off without any attempt to meet us, as per our request, back at our car before our paid permit ran out.
One of the many archways through the ancient wall into the Citta Historica
WE ARE SAVED BY AN OOMPAH BAND.
Inching round and round the city in rush hour traffic, we eventually reached her via mobile phone; (hers had been switched off until five minutes to four). Not that much use, because she could not tell us where she was. We were both fuming, but Graham swallowed his fury and calmly asked her to look for some landmarks.
Suddenly she was drowned out by a brass band, enthusiastically oompah-pahing at very close quarters to both phones. I had to laugh, and so, reluctantly, did my thunderous husband, but it was thanks to that band that, standing up in the car, he eventually spotted her.
In a very bad mood Graham drove straight to Ikea where we raced around to buy stuff, because that evening we must drive on to Bari airport to meet Lolly, arriving for a week. Wouldn’t you know – that wretched girl disappeared again in the vast recesses of the Ikea store?
Once she was found and, I’m afraid, forcibly told off by me, we all had a very hasty snack in Ikea before hurrying off to the airport some miles away. Lolly’s plane would land at 8.40.
A RED-HOT MAMMA SASHAYS IN.
Lolly looking serious – the time we took her to the Lake District England
Lurline Soignet has been our dearest friend since 1980. We met her on our very first night in New Orleans, having slept all evening, exhausted after our journey to Gatwick, and then the flight to Miami, and changing planes for New Orleans.
New to the country, let alone the city, we awoke hungry. Graham remembered seeing a “greasy spoon” just up the road, with a sign announcing ‘Open 24 hours.’
‘I think they just serve hamburgers,’ he said. “I know you’re not keen – but at least they’re food. And they are probably better here in America. I mean – they are a way of life here.”
So we tidied ourselves and dragged ourselves up to the top of that block of St Charles Avenue and entered ‘the Frosttop’.
The smell coming from burgers sizzling on the hotplate was surprisingly appetising, but we could see no one to serve us. Suddenly one of those cute white forage caps appeared above the counter, followed by long blonde hair framing a bright red face atop a very impressive bosom. The lady was no taller than me – and I am 5ft in my socks.
“Why, hell,” she drawled in a voice that was deep, like thick, smooth chocolate. “Haven’t seen you folks before. Waddya want?”
As soon as Graham opened his mouth she crowed with delight. “You’re English. Wonderful. How long ya’ll staying in Ny’Awlins?”
When we explained that we had come to settle, and that Graham was to start work the very next day she said ‘then y’all need to get to know folks. My name is Lurline Soignet” (she pronounced it ‘Lorreline’) and you sure are welcome to our city.”
She expertly flipped our burgers, and turned to face us.
“Tell me where y’all staying and my friend Judy’ll come collect you on Saturday morning, so you can meet the Neighbourhood Nuts.”
Sure enough, at about 11am Saturday morning there was a hammering on the door, and a lady stood there with a grin almost as wide as her ample frame. This was Judy; we got to know her as a most generous hostess, who could throw a party at the drop of a hat. She was a wonderful cook (I can dream of her barbecued ‘shrimp’ even now; swimming in butter and garlic – oh boy.) None of the ‘Nuts’ were well off; Lolly was a divorcee with no alimony; so she had four jobs in order to keep her four kids decently fed and clothed.
Our friend has a heart as big as a house; She loves everybody, and judges nobody, so she is in turn loved, even when, as she says ‘My craziness drives you all off the wall…’
It was our great pleasure to invite her to stay for a week with us in Italy, a country quite new to her. She was just finishing up her summer sojourn in a pretty little town near Frankfurt, where her youngest brother, a professor, taught students on the American Air force base in the area.
THE BARRIER.
Lolly’s brother Gary had seen her off in Frankfurt. Knowing Lolly’s happy-go-lucky nature, he had insisted she travel ‘wheelchair’ because that way she would be supervised and not go wandering off and miss her ‘planes. She had also recently had a series of tummy operations.
Bari is a small airport. I stood by the rope barrier in the outer hall. Passengers filed past me after collecting their suitcases, and over the rope barrier I could see Lolly sitting in her wheelchair, waiting for someone to retrieve hers for her. (She brought two sizable suitcases for one week in the country!).
All the passengers had passed me, but I did not dare duck under the rope to go and help my friend, sitting helplessly making faces and hand gestures to me, although in that laid-back town I reckon I probably could have. So it was about 9.30 when we left, and Graham had to negotiate endless road works and deviations on the way back. We arrived after 11pm to that yapping, nipping dog, which rushed at tiny Lolly. She had brought gifts for us; mine being a welcome thin and loose tee shirt and a very pretty matching necklace and bangle of white, black and silver beads. I wear them every day with my light summer clothes.
