Unfortunately, Keith had an upset tum this morning and had been awake since about 4am, so that wasn't good news, but fairly usual for this particular holiday! I suspected it was a bottle of beer he'd drunk as it looked horrible when he poured the dregs into his glass! Yuk!
We had showers, packed the car, and were out by 8.30am. I walked up the road and took some photos of the vineyards stretching away into the distance.
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| Our street in Milly |
The grapes were still small but will ripen over the next few months. Before we left, we spotted a pretty little cat who wanted to come over and see us, but was a little scared! Sophie can't wait to see our two!
We headed for Troyes on the N77 and witnessed some mad French driving this morning, with cars overtaking and zooming in and out even though we were all driving at the speed limit of 80kmh. I was very glad to spot a supermarket and petrol station where we filled up with petrol. There was also a pharmacy in the car park, so Sophie and I went in to try and get Keith some Imodium. We very nearly bought him Dulcolax, which would have had the opposite effect! We had a fit of the giggles and nodded when the chemist asked if we wanted the "by mouth" medication! Imagine!
Back on the road, we skirted Troyes and joined the A26 autoroute to get to Reims, then St Quentin, where we took a very boring autoroute, the A29, to Amiens. We stopped twice this morning for coffee and pains au chocolat, with the second aire a very basic one with toilets. Sophie was disgusted by the smells at the second aire and said that someone had urinated by their car. The warmth of the sun made it worse! Once at Amiens, we took the A16, calling in at the Baie du Somme aire for petrol. It was hectically busy here, so we carried on to Montreuil-sur-Mer, our last stop of the holiday.
A day too far?
I had a horrible feeling gnawing away at me that we had made a mistake by adding an extra day to the holiday to see the Tour de France. Montreuil-sur-Mer was already busy, with the bars and restaurants packed. When we found the street where we had rented an apartment for the night, there wasn't a car parking space to be had. On our second circuit, we pulled into a space close by, but it was limited to 90 minutes only. It didn't help that there was a wedding about to take place at the large church nearby, and we saw lots of smartly dressed people trying to find a space in the crowded town centre. I saw one couple in a smart Porsche drive past twice, with the man looking increasingly annoyed!
Sophie and I walked down the street and found the door to the apartment block. She messaged our host, and about twenty minutes later, the concierge turned up to let us in. He spoke no English, and my French had, if anything, become worse! We followed him through a dingy, scruffy area and up three flights of stairs to the top floor, and apartment number 11. How we were going to get everything up here, I dreaded to think. We were aware that there was no lift, but planning these places and then arriving are two very different things, and I was annoyed with myself. We had looked everywhere for a place to stay near the Tour de France route, and this was one of the few options.
We had cards to get in, and we followed the man into the apartment. The unit had three bedrooms, an open-plan sitting/dining/kitchen area with very low sofas, and a large bedroom at the end with a free-standing bath and sink. Slightly bizarre! We had agreed to bring only the bare minimum in as we didn't fancy lugging all of our stuff up the stairs.
I hated the place, if I was honest. The only windows were skylights, and I felt very claustrophobic. We had the devil of a job locking the door, and we went back downstairs to get Keith. As we went down, we noticed that the stairs had a distinct slant to them! I felt like I was in a weird Dali-esque nightmare! What made it worse was that the bannister on our floor was very low - beneath waist level - and I had a horrible feeling about falling over. It seemed like the whole building was leaning!
Keith wasn't impressed either, and on our second trip, I realised there was no way we could stay there. Imagine if there were a fire? There was no escape! Plus, what if we couldn't find a parking space? We made the decision to leave and try and get a train back a day early.
We were disappointed, but I think we had underestimated how busy the town would be and the lack of parking. We headed out of Montreuil-sur-Mer and saw all the flags and balloons celebrating the Tour de France for tomorrow. How lovely to have a house on the route!
At Calais, we managed, by sheer luck, to get a train leaving in ten minutes at no extra charge! It felt like we had made the right decision.
Our train was delayed by half an hour, but we were still back in the UK by 4.30pm. The M25 around the Dartford Tunnel was congested as usual, but we made it home by 7.30pm and ordered a Chinese takeaway as soon as we walked in. I had only eaten pains au chocolat all day!
As we waited, we chatted about the holiday and agreed that we would be giving Airbnbs a rest for a while. Although we had chosen carefully, and only picked places with good reviews and experienced hosts, we were disappointed with every one of them and wouldn't return. The only place we would go back to was Le Troubadour hotel.
To Sophie's delight, Mooney made an appearance and seemed pleased to see us. Gomez came in later, just as we were about to go to bed. It had been a long day, and we'd been on the road for eight hours. What bliss to get into my own bed!
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