The Incredible Journey - 17 June, 1994

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up.

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

17 June - Toulouse

Arranged to see the rugby with one of the guys in Alexandre's troupe so I went to his place.  We ate cherries while watching - different to the normal braai with rugby.  He was very sweet.

Listened to an interview on the radio with Alex about her show.

On Sunday I took the train out of town and was met by my Tante D - Oncle R's ex-wife.  Had lunch with her and her new husband and my cousin Cedric, who barely spoke to me.  

Tante D and Oncle R are very childish and when I called Oncle R to pick me up he said he would not drive into her yard.  I told him he could park at the bottom of the drive and hoot but he wasn't having it.  Eventually Tante D said she would take me to his house and we got lost and spent 30 minutes getting me to a place 10 minutes away.  

She kept saying to me: "Do you know which way from here?"  

A rather stupid question of a foreign family member, I thought.

18 June - Toulouse

Alex said I could get a lift back to England with her boyfriend and his friend who were taking their act to Glastonbury.  I had to meet them at the chateau where they were rehearsing.

So I was going there from Oncle R's house.  I went to the train station with Oncle R and the train was late.  I was majorly tense because I had only 20 mins to change between the train and the bus.  When I got to Toulouse I had to run to the bus station next door and I just made the bus by the skin of my teeth.

Eventually got to the chateau, which seems to be a big artist/loser community.  People were not very friendly.  I got funny looks when I said I was from South Africa.  

I had a look around the chateau and found a loft filled with sculptures.  Amazing except I had to tread carefully to avoid falling through the rotted wooden floor.

There was also an old courtyard which still had an amazing old carriage in it.   All overgrown so I had to stamp the ground furiously before going in to scare off any snakes.  

I also found some rooms just left to rot, with paintings falling apart on the walls.  

It was sad to see what had once been a beautiful chateau falling apart.  It was basically a squat.  

I just wanted to get going.  I was sick of France and stressed because I still had to find somewhere to stay when I got to London.

Someone was working on the old bus which they have kitted out with beds, etc. because  It wouldn't start.  I was planning to get off the bus at Dover because they are not going to London itself.  

Eventually someone got the bus running and we left at 11pm.  The crew was me, Alexandre, her boyfriend, Vincent, and his partner in the act, George.

19 June - En route to England

Slept late.  We drove through the night.

We got to their friends at Le Mans at 11am.  We had lunch - again a fabulous meal created seemingly from thin air - and the guys cleaned up!  This is not South Africa, that's for sure.

They began to explain to me what the Glastonbury Festival is, and I began to think seriously of going with them.  I presented the idea tentatively but it seemed it was OK as the two we were picking up, Jean Luc and Nono, had an extra tent.

Left for Caen at about 8pm.  Did some shopping along the way.  When we got to the ferry they decided to crook it and only paid for three adults and the bus.  

Alex, Nono and I had to hide on the bed at the back of the bus when they went to the ticket office.  Then they needed money so I had to try to get off and withdraw from the ATM without being seen by the ticket people.  God.

Once we had parked the bus on the ferry, Alex's boyfriend Vincent told us three hiding on the bus to get off and pretend we had all been paid for and walk out of the car park with them.  I didn't want to do it.  I wanted to hide on the bus for the whole ferry crossing.  

It must have been very obvious, or they saw us on the CCTV or something, because even after we split up and had been walking around on the deck for a while, an official came up to us and began freaking out and wanting to throw us off the ferry.  He led us down to the gangway.  Alex was begging him all the way and eventually he let us pay for the three extra tickets when we were standing on the shore with the ferry revving up to leave.

More stress than the potential saving of cheating was worth, in my opinion.

6 hour crossing.

Very uncomfortable.  I wasn't meant to be a sailor.

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey - 11 June, 1994

 

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home and entries from my diary. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up.

  

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post. 

 

 

 

11 June - Toulouse

  

Tante M took me to Paul's house to say goodbye to everybody again.  Leontine cried when she realized she wouldn't see me again.  I'll miss them. 

 

I took the train to Toulouse and was met by Oncle R.  He had arranged dinner at my cousin (his daughter), Alexandre.  He also arranged for Sabine, my cousin from my mother's other brother, to come with her husband.  

 

I would never have recognized Sabine.  I met her when we came to France when I was a kid - about 7 years old.  Her hair is bright red and she is clearly in the whole on-the-dole*-while-I-make-art brigade.  But she was real cool and we got on well.

 

[ * Dole = welfare

I have to say that my view on this has changed considerably.  I envy artists the courage they have to live a poor life to pursue their art.  We should spend a lot more money on the Arts and support them.  We are, as a society, becoming too technology focused and forgetting to use our right brains.  Bring languages, music and art back into schools! ]

 

Sabine, on the other hand, looked much the same as when I'd first met her in 1977.  She's clearly living the picket fence life.  She wants to return to her home town.  Good grief!

 

Drove back out to Oncle R's house, which is pretty far out of Toulouse in a small village.  His house is directly on the street - there is just a curb in front of his front door - and his garage is cut into the rock face and the graite forms the back wall.  You turn directly into the garage from the street.  I am sure this was all safe when all that was passing was the odd horse, but nowadays if you open the front door for air, you might find your arm ripped off by an articulated lorry.

 

 

 

12 June - Toulouse

  

Oncle R has satellite!  Watched Farewell my Concubine, which was amazing.  I even found a late night adult channel!  Confirmed my suspicions - seen one, seen 'em all.

 

Yesterday Oncle R took me to visit his friend, Daniel, an opthalmologist because I made the mistake of mentioning contact lenses.  You have to learn to avoid medical topics with relatives who are retired surgeons.  I could not offend Oncle R by saying there was no need for me to go.  When I asked Daniel about disposable contact lenses I was told they didn't exist for people with astigmatism, so I told him about the pair I had tried back home.  He was flabberghasted.  So I taught HIM something.  Perhaps South Africa isn't so far behind the rest of the world after all.

 

We went out for lunch and I had a real cassoulet.  Yum, except they did not serve it with anything.  No rice, just by itself.  I miss my mom's cooking.

 

Oncle R and I argue constantly.  If I say black, he says white.  I think he just wants to debate.  Perhaps it is because he lives alone and he is relishing having conversation.

 

[My uncle said something to me during one of these debates which I didn't get at the time.  I can't remember exactly what we were talking about but he made the point that people are not productive for the full eight hours they are at work.  I was saying that when you are at work you are at work and he was saying that you are lucky if people are truly productive for half of the working day.  

  

It was years later that I recalled this conversation and finally got the point of what he was saying.  People do waste a lot of time in the workplace.  Meetings should be work, but they are often a waste of time.  People chat.  They stand and gossip at the water cooler.  They surf the net.  They make calls for their personal administration tasks - doctor, dentist, etc.  

  

This realization has also freed me from the tyranny of the eight hour, 9am to 5pm day.  I am very productive, and I get what I need to get done, done.  So I know when I get can in at 10 and when I can walk out at 4.  I also know when I have to stay till 7.  And I never take work home with me anymore.

    

For that freedom, I owe my Uncle R. ]

 

 

 

14 June - Toulouse

 

Oncle R took me to the opthalmologist to have a retina test.  He put a glass thing up against my eye and then shone a light right into the retina through it.  I thought at one point I was going to kick him in the goolies as he bent over me, it hurt so much.

 

I went up to Toulouse and went to see La Haine, which had been on at Cannes.  It was excellent although, without English subtitles, I know I missed a lot as they were speaking argot (slang).  

 

I met Alexandre at a little flat where she was working on some costumes for a production.  I went with her to a rehearsal of her play which the troupe were going to take to a festival at Avignon.  It was a workshopped piece, very well done and very funny.

  

At one point she is in a plane and the pilot is flying over Barcelona and she points and yells "SAGRADA FAMILIA!" and he pulls up on the throttle to climb above the spires.  It's the kind of humor that you get in a play that those troupes would bring to you when you were in primary school, but that kind of humor is still fun.

  

We had a very late supper at a restaurant opposite her flat.  As a full time actress, she keeps strange hours.

 

The next day she had to run off somewhere so I arranged to meet her at a friend's flat.  I took the bus there and managed to find it.  It was clear that Valerie is poor and on benefits but the atmosphere was amazing and dinner for all and sundry seemed to materialize out of thin air.  The only thing is that Valerie is pregnant and I think that its sad and irresponsible when you have no money.  These are not circumstances to rear a child in.

 

We were supposed to go out to a chateau where underpriveleged people live and are encougaged to get back on their feet by participation in the arts.  Alexandre was pissed off because the bus had broken down and we could not get out to the chateau so she went home and I went out with Valerie, her boyfriend Laurent, Frederic (Laurent's partner in an act called Les Scouts - street theatre), and some of their friends.

 

We went to see a live band.  The group was from Paris and they were very good.  There were 3 guys, the first of whom played accordion, synth, pianoflute, recorder, trumpet, trombone, guitar, drums on pots and the violin on a saw.  The second sang, played accordion and various other home made percussion instruments.  The third guy played guitar, banjo and double bass.  I enjoyed it, and slept the night at Valerie's.  

 

The next day Valerie was very sweet and did her best to make me feel at home.  Alexandre met me there in the morning and then rushed off to do something or other.  I went back to her flat and showered then my cousin Cedric (Alexandre's brother) came and fetched me with his friend Nicholas to go to Alexandre's play.  Les Scoutes were on first and they were very good.  

  

Alex's play was very good.  Seriously.  A lot better than I expected it to be.

 

Afterwards we sat around chatting and we got a lift home with Laurent.  Alex went to bed and I went to Laurent's to play cards with him and his friends.  We played a game called Troup de Cene (Arsehole).  I don't remember the rules.  I got home at 4am.

 

 

 

 

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post. 

The Incredible Journey - 1 June, 1994

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home and entries from my diary. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up.

 

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

 

 

 

1 June - Brissac

 

In the afternoon, after Fifi went back to school after lunch (kids in France come home from school for lunch), we went for a drive in the country.  First we went up to Tharaux - a tiny village at the top of a hill, overlooking a flat plain.  One has to park one's car outside the village and walk up the steep, narrow roads.  It is centuries old.  Move of the houses were closed up and we met a lonely old man who said they were mostly owned by Germans who came in the summer.

 

There was a small church, beautifully decorated but falling into disrepair.  The town's chateau was owned by a Swiss man as his holiday home.

 

These were the feudal villages of the past.  Up on a hill for defence, cultivated lands in the valley below. Now they are dead places.  So sad.  

 

 

 

 

 

After that we drove to the Pont D'Arc de Vallon, a part of a the river with many lovely spots to swim and so on.  There were stacks of campsites and canoes for hire.  It is canoe country.  We wound up the mountain and saw the Arch, which had been cut out of the stone by water corosion.  The mountains were very pretty in a Gorrillas in the Mist introductory sweeping shot kind of way.

  

 

7 June - Letter home

 

Hello Family!

 

Can't figure out when I wrote last so if I repeat myself - sorry!

 

It was really nice to speak to you on the phone, Dad.  Sorry if I was a bit short but I felt really bad using Caroline's phone.  I hope you got the fax OK.

 

We took the kids to the Feria at Ales.  There were tons of fetes all over this area in the summer.  It was a typical fete - Spanish influence clear.  But the whole experience was marred by losing Fifi and a 20 minute panic.  After she was found we saw a few bands and were amused by Leontine dancing.

 

Caroline took me for a drive after dropping Fifi back at school after lunch.  We went up to a small village called Tharaux.  It is really small and most of the houses are closed up till summer.  We met an old man who retired there and he told us that the houses are owned by foreigners who throw open the shutters and make the village come to life.  He seemed very lonely.  The chateau, such as it is, is owned by a Swiss.  The tiny village is on a hill overlooking a flood plain and has a river at the foot of it.  As you wind up you park your car in a parking area and walk up to the village - you can't take your car up there.  The narrow walkways between the houses are sometimes composed of steps.  A quaint little place, but I couldn't live there.

 

Nick came home from the oil rig.  He seems like a really nice guy.  

 

On Sunday Paul came up with his two kids for lunch.  Aimee didn't come because she wanted to clean the house in peace without the kids.  It was a nice family lunch but you just can't relax with kids around.  The kids are the same age so they play well together.  It seems to me that Caroline's kids are more developed.  They speak better, etc.

It was a nice family day.  We played cards in the evening.  

 

Paul is a nice guy - very simple and straightforward.  He is very proFrance and antiChirac.  He is very nice to me so we get on well.  He left early to go fishing.

 

Monday was a public holiday so we took the kids to river.  The river here is like going to the beach back home - same mentality.  It wasn't too hot so I just sat under a tree and read a book all day.  Jean was sulking because he couldn't swim - he fell off his bike and has 5 stitches.

 

They have a blow up crocodile (like a lilo) and next thing Maxine was sitting on it and floating off down the river.  Nick waded in to get her but she was completely calm.  She didn't cry or panic.  She just watched him come to get her.  

 

Last night I babysat the kids while Nick and Caroline went out for the first time alone in years.  Apparently the first time since they got to France - 5 years!  Ridiculous!  (I'm never having kids.)  The children weren't a problem and even Jean went to bed when I asked him to.  He can be very difficult when he wants to be - very cheeky.  

 

Friday we went to Montpellier with Nick getting tense in the back seat.  He does not drive but has an advanced license in criticism.  I had a hard time with first Fifi then Leontine on my lap, the latter finally covering me in chewing gum.  Remind me not to have kids.

 

We got to Paul's and I said goodbye to everyone and Caroline took me to Tante M's house.

  

I have spoken to Caroline about it and I think I'll come back to her for Christmas.  It'll be nice to spend Christmas with family.

 

Lots of love and kisses....

 

 

 

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey - 23 May, 1994

 

 In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home and entries from my diary. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up. 

 

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

 

 

 

26 May - Brissac

   

Took the girls for a walk while Caroline got some sleep. 

 

We got to a field covered in flowers and Fifi picked some.  I'm still amazed at how girlie she is.  She said she would have flowers like that when she married her father.  I nearly fell over backwards.  Maybe I should've believed Freud a bit more and not got a D on that essay at University.

 

Babysat the kids while Caroline went to Ales.  All fine until Leontine peed in her pants the second time.  She fought with me while I showered her and, exactly two minutes before Caroline came home, everything turned to chaos.  Typical.  Must happen to au pairs all the time. 

 

In the evening Caroline's friend, Jo, came over.  She is really nice.  The face and body of a child.  You would never say she was in her thirties with two kids.  

 

 

 

27 May - Brissac

 

Went down to Paul and Aimee's house outside Montpellier.  They live in a modern design estate.  The house was one of the most messy I have ever come across.  She has two kids to deal with, a cleaning job in the early mornings and all her housework to do with no help, so I guess I could understand it, but I didn't have to like it.

 

We went to the park with the kids and then to Tante M's house.  The kids picked the massive cherries off her tree.  We visited with her for a while and then had pizza at a roadside stand on the way home - the easy way out with kids.  Paul met us there and he and Aimee had a fight so it was all a bit tense.

 

Back home he showed me photos then disappeared to go night fishing.  I wonder how true that is.  The little ones went to bed and we played cards - the mothers, Jean and me.  Jean was being an absolute pain and, for the first time, I saw him behave like a kid.  I guess he plays the man of the house at his place in his father's absence but can be a kid when he is with his cousins.  

 

 

 

28 May - Brissac

 

Mother's Day in France.  We left Paul and Aimee and headed towards Avignon.  We had lunch at MacDonald's.  We had no choice because every time we passed one on the road the kids yelled "MacDoh Maman! MacDoh!"  Eventually Caroline had to give in.

 

Just before Avignon we turned up to the North West and went to Port du Gard, an old Roman aqueduct.  Many people were there as there are wonderful places to picnic nearby and you can swim in the river.  

 

 

 

We sat on the river bank a while, laughing at Leontine who kept plonking herself down on other people's towels.  That girl is fearless.  A real Leo.

 

Back at Caroline's I saw the awards ceremony at Cannes.  

 

 

 

 

29 May - Brissac

 

Went out with Fifi's school on an outing to an educational farm.  The mothers were invited to come.  

 

When we got to the school, Fifi refused to get on the bus with the other kids and insisted on coming with us instead.  She spent the whole day hanging out with us, separate from the other children.  Interesting to observe.  I couldn't figure out why.  She is so pretty and should be very popular with her classmates.

 

Watching the kids was a little like watching a Petit Nicholas book come to life.

 

While the kids were taken around the farm I sat in the sun and read The Celestine Prophecy.  Great book.

 

We all had picnic lunch and I began to see how the women excluded Caroline.  It was such a typical southerner rural area attitude to "les etrangers."  The teachers offered all the mothers coffee except for Caroline and I.  Utterly amazing.

 

The farmers put on a little demonstration with a horse in a small round corral, and all the kids and mothers sat in a circle to watch.  Everyone except Fifi, who spend the time chatting to, and performing for, the elderly man who was playing the music on the record player.  She is absolutely incredible.  He was the only adult man there and she was all over him.  At that age!  Scary.

 

I sat in the car after the performance and Caroline sat a little with the mothers while the kids were taken on carriage rides.  She saw with a woman who used to be a friend of hers and apparently dropped her when she married her neighbor.  This woman is an etrangere too but is accepted by the community now.  She told Caroline that her kids were "capricious," which hurt Caroline.  But I have to admit that both Fifi and Leontine spent the whole day off by themselves, separate from the other children.  I can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.  They are difficult to discipline and perhaps they are not learning as much about relating to others as they could be, but they are also not conformist and have strong individual personalities.  

 

 

 

30 May - Brissac

 

Caroline is suffering from bad hayfever.  I took Jean to a movie.

 

 

 

31 May - Brissac

 

No school for the kids.  Caroline took Jean to the hospital for his allergy shot, then to the dentist, while I stayed with the girls.

 

Found Zen and the Art of Motorocycle Maintenance which we had looked for when we were at Playa de Piles, because everybody seemed to be reading it there.

 

Saw a TV programme on Naturalists.  It's amazing how many nudist camps there are in France.  It also spoke about the different attitudes to nudity in Europe.  People tan nude in public parks in Germany and, in Scandinavia you have the right to go nude in public.  No arresting streakers at cricket matches.

 

It was interesting because, as the show went on, I got less and less interested in looking at the people's bodies.  It became a non-issue.  I guess that's the whole point.

 

At half past midnight they had a programme on TV called Cercle de Minuit.  They were discussing Africa, and began with Johnny Clegg and Sipho Mchunu from Juluka playing a song.  They are in France for a festival of African Art.

 

Some doctor on the TV spewed a bunch of BS about humanitarianism and then Johnny Clegg said something with a lot of "Ums" in it.  Then the presenter said to Sipho: 

 

"And what do you think about the war in Rwanda?"

 

What a pathetic question!  If you are black, Europeans think you must know about all the issues in the whole of Africa.  So Sipho says:

 

"I don't know anything about that."

 

Which was no doubt true.  Hell, I don't either.  Stupid presenter.  I switched the TV off and grumbled my way to bed.

 

 

 

31 May - Letter home

 

Hello Family!

 

Sunday was Mother's Day here so HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to those of you who qualify.

 

I have decided to stay here until Nick (Caroline's husband) returns from the oil rig, so I'll get to meet him.  He works one month on and one month off.  I'd like to work like that - it'd be perfect for traveling.   I don't know if they need administrators on oil rigs.  I'll ask Nick when he gets here.

 

Caroline's house is part of the original Hameau (hamlet) so it's an old stone building with a central courtyard.  But the building has been split up to create different houses.  So you walk into the arch and in front of you is a walkway under another arch which opens into the little courtyard.  The caves (cellars) open onto this.  Caroline and Nick don't use their cave except for storage.

 

Back to the entrance arch...

 

The arch to the courtyard is on the right and on your left stone steps going up.  At the top of the steps is an entrance to another house on your right and directly in front of you is Caroline's front door. 

 

This opens up onto the kitchen / dining-room / lounge, directly behind which is Fifi and Leontine's bedroom.  To the left of that is Caroline and Nick's room.  

 

On the right of the central family area, which has a huge fireplace, is a doorway to the passage, toilet, bathroom and Jean's room.  

 

So the old stone building has three divisions (houses) on Caroline's part of it.  Outside the building extends round the central "place" where the older people sit every day and play cards, like true Europeans.

  

It's a lovely old stone house and you could do a lot with the cellars underneath, but renovation would cost a fortune.  Also, because of the way it's built, it has no garden for the kids.

 

It's kind of strange this old building because it forms something like a set of duplexes.  It takes a while to figure out which walls belong to which houses.  It's unfortunate that it would cost so much to do up, because it really has potential.  

 

I am slowly beginning to feel like I am really in Provence.  Have you read "A Year in Provence" by Peter Mayle?  If not, make sure you do.  When we initially drove from Montpellier to Cannes I tried to find a place to eat in Aix en Provence, wanting to capture the atmosphere Peter Mayle talks about.  It didn't work because I was coming down with flu, it was raining, we couldn't find a restaurant and Carrie and Varla didn't understand what I was on about.  We ended up eating pizza in a takeaway.

 

In fact I really don't think Carrie and Varla benefited fully from their trip at all.  As I've said to you before, they kept wanting to go to the beach and tan.  They'll go back to South Africa and they'll be practically unchanged.  I don't regret leaving them at all.  They might as well have spent their money on a holiday in Cape Town.

 

(This is a bit harsh.  But this letter was written at the very low point of my relationship with Carrie and Varla.  Well, let me clarify.  I have no relationship with Varla.  Carrie and I are still friends - we always will be.  But I recognize that Varla was an 18 year old child who chose to go to Europe with her teacher turned girlfriend and was leaving home for the first time in her life.  She didn't want to come on a cultural trip to Europe - she just wanted to be with Carrie.

 

Carrie spent the whole time torn between the two of us.  This was her first real relationship having discovered her true sexuality so she was also just trying to be with Varla vs. travel and see Europe.  We had conflicting priorities.)

 

Anyway...  When did I write to you last.  Let me catch you up on the news.

 

On Thursday we went into the town of Ales to la Feria.  Apparently throughout summer there is always some kind of festival/fair going on somewhere in the south of France.  The Spanish and Italian influence is glaringly obvious.  They even dress up in Spanish dress some of them.  Borders really are unnatural.  The progression is gradual as you go through Europe.  The landscape changes, the weather, the crops, the food, the dialect... Who cares where the line on the map is?

 

At the Feria they had stalls along the pedestrian walkway.  Lots of food and bands competing for attention.

 

And the next thing we know, Fifi had disappeared.  It was hell.  I stayed with Leontine and Jean while Caroline searched.  My stomach was so knotted I was nauseous, especially since Fifi is so pretty.  She's the kind of child that the kind of person we prefer not to think about would find perfect for their purposes.

 

Eventually she was found with the Police to whom she apparently refused to say a single word.  This is a worrying thing as Fifi is usually extremely vocal and one would hope ones children would be able to say their name, parents' names, etc. in these situations.

 

After that drama was over we sat and had paella at one of the stalls.  I made the mistake of ordering tripe at the last minute - bit of a yen for mom's cooking, I guess.  Well, it was awful.  nobody makes trip like you, Mom.

 

After supper we strolled back down in the direction of the car and passed one of the bands.  They were five young people, all dressed up in 60s gear (wigs, sunglasses and all), and they were playing really well.  

 

Tennis at Roland Garros is on the TV and Wayne Ferreira has balle de match against Mats Wilander.  

 

GO WAYNE!

 

Mats is holding on.  Damn.  Amazing how patriotic you get when you are away from home.

 

Anyway, back to the Feria...

 

We stopped to watch the band a while and little Leontine did her nut.  Try to imagine a thin, find-boned 2 year old girl, with curly light ringlets, dancing completely unselfconsciously.  She bounced around, hands in the air, laughing.  Then she'd come up to us with her hands over her ears moaning about the volume, then back she'd go to dance again.  

 

There was this old gypsy guy there (leather pants, scruffy hair), who started dancing with her.  They were an odd couple.

 

Ferreira is losing.  He's throwing temper tantrums as usual.

 

I took the girls for a walk and the other day and Fifi picked flowers.  Beautiful red poppies.  They just grow wild in the fields.

 

Forgot to tell you... I watched the opening of the World Cup.  The ceremony wasn't bad except for flippin' PJ bloody Powers.  WHY do they keep on using her?  Why?  She is old, she is fat and there are TONS of artists 10 TIMES better than her.  She is dead.  Where we Johnny Clegg, Claire Johnson, Ladysmith Black Mambazo?  The people who CURRENTLY are appreciated by both black and white!  

  

I enjoyed seeing South Africa win, though, even though I'm not a big rugby fan.

 

We went to stay at Paul and Aimee's house.  They have a small modern house in a development thing.  There is a small back yard where they have jungle jim - come - swings and one of those shell sandpits.  In summer Paul puts up a portapool.  He's also starting to build a Wendy House out of a crate for the kinds.  Very much the hand man.

 

We took the kids to a park.  The four young ones get on well, especially since each pair of cousins is the same age.  Jean is a bit left out, being older.  I felt sorry for him.

 

After the park we went to Tante M's house where the kids and Aimee picked cherries from her tree.  Aimee is tiny and she climbed the tree with the kids.  The cherries were big and black...yummy!

 

I was telling you before how I tried to eat Provencale food when we were in Aix.  I lost my train of thought.  It is now that I feel I am in Provence.  The cheese is wonderful.  The fruit is amazing.  Apart from the cherries we picked at Tante M's, 2 neighbors have given Caroline cherries from their gardens.  I'm gaining weight, I'm sure.

 

Back at Paul's house, he showed me photos of their holiday with Nick and Caroline in the mountains and the time they went to Martinique.  Then he went fishing.  Apparently he goes fishing all the time - he has a little rowboat.

 

We fed the little ones and put them to bed and played cards.  We slept over at their house. 

 

Sunday was Mother's Day in France so Aimee packed up her kids and took them to see her mother in Avignon.  She is one of ten kids so Mother's Day is a big deal in their house.  

 

We headed North and had lunch at MacDonald's then went to Pont du Gard. It's a Roman Aqueduct, still intact, and now a tourist attraction.  It's a nice place to spend the day because you can swim in the river.  

 

We spent the day there with the kids - there were tons of people - canoeing, cycling, sight seeing, swimming.

 

Leontine was hilarious again, plonking herself down on other people's towels which they had left on the river bank, stretching out and having a rest, no problem.  Fifi - la coquette - swam with her talking Barbie, which now gurgles. 

 

Fifi's preschool went on an outing to a farm, and invited the mothers to go with, so off we went.

 

Fifi refused to get on the bus with the other kids and, in fact, spent the whole day with us rather than playing with the kids in her class.  Why, I don't know.  She's not a shy child and she doesn't strike me as a mummy's girl.  Apparently she's been doing this for a little while now.  Maybe it's "a stage."

 

The school trip was to a farm nearby.  While the kids were shown around, I read a book quietly under a tree.  Bliss.

 

I saw proof of what I've heard about the people in the South of France.  They don't accept "les etrangers" even if you live amongst them for years.  There were 5 mothers and 2 teachers.  After lunch, flasks of coffee appeared and they offered all the adults coffee except Caroline and I.  So childish.  Pathetic little women living in a small town with tiny minds.  

 

Well, I'm traveling the world and they're stuck here with their sexist husbands, their kids and their tiny  lives where they have to be bitchy to occupy themselves.  Shame.  Screw them.  From here I head to Toulouse and to London and I've done the whole of Spain.  It's a safe bet that I am having more fun than them.

 

For Caroline, however, it's different.  She lives here and, with Nick away every second month, it must be difficult for her.  She lives in a small town with no theaters, clubs, etc.  Tante M and Paul are over an hour's drive away.  And she's restricted by having 3 kids.  There are no maids here.

 

The last thing she needs is a bunch of old hens being bitchy to her.  I hate narrowminded people.  

 

I'll be here another week or so then heading out.  I aim to be in London by the middle of next month.

 

Lots of love...

 

 

 

  

 

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey - 19 May, 1994

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

 

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home, or entries in my trip diary. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up.

  
The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

 

 

 

 

19 May - Cannes

 

Went to Nice for a day trip.  Separated from Carrie and Varla and met an Aussie called Vicky on the beach.  She was so cool.

 

Arranged to meet her later at her hotel and went to the Modern Art Museum.  It was amazing.  I discovered an artist called Ben and was blown away by his sense of humor.

  
 

  

  

Met Vicky and told her about the situation with Carrie and Varla.  We basically can't stand each other.  She invited me to travel with her but she was going down to Spain - the opposite way I was headed.

  

I went on to Monte Carlo and was amazed at the number of expensive cars.  Saw the casino but could not go in because I was not dressed up enough.  Went up to the palace - no big deal.

  

Met Carrie and Varla by chance at the station in Monte Carlo and Carrie said she had tried her bank card and they were out of money.  She had budgeted wrong.  They had decided to go back to London.  I said I might stay, thinking that fate had now given me the chance to do what I had been too afraid to do - break away from them.

  

Back at the campsite we played pool again with Christophe, Fabrice, Medhi (the latter two were staying at the campsite).  Carrie and Varla won consistently. 

  

Carrie and Varla went to bed and I hung out in the bar with the guys and met Helena, an Englishwoman living in Barcelona.  I told them the situation with Carrie and Varla and Christophe said that, if I stayed behind, I could stay in his bungalow.

 

I drank too much vodka and ended up in one of the empty bungalows with Christophe.  Not the best I've had, even if he was pretty.

 

 

 

20 May - Cannes

 

Carrie and Varla left, having decided to drive though to England as quickly as possible - not that it could be that quick in our old geezer of a van.

 

I did some washing and sorted my stuff out - threw away a lot of it because I couldn't carry it in my backpack.

 

Went to Cannes with Helena.  She went up to Security and spouted some bull about losing her pass and having to get something to her Producer and managed to get us into the enclosures and we saw some of the exhibitions and the mobile phone brigade making deals.  Went down into the pit of the Palais where all the porno stuff is.  Interesting.

 

There were people dressed up in costumes promoting things and tons of street artists on the waterfront.  Amazing atmosphere.

 

Left Helena and, back at the campsite, met Simon (Aussie), Gisella (Brit), two Danish au pairs, Thierry (French mime artist), and Patrice (French bodyguard who had some amazing stories about protecting French porn stars).  We all had supper together, joined by Fabrice and Medhi, sharing stuff in the campsite and managing to communicate through much translation back and forth.

 

We all went into Cannes together, which turned out to be a total abortion.  It was full of people and you couldn't get in anywhere.  All the bars and restaurants were full or closed for private parties.  

 

People on the street playing the part of the power Producer.

 

Got home late and Christophe waltzed into the bungalow demanding payment for the free accommodation.

 

 

21 May - Cannes

 

Vicky, the Aussie I met on the beach in Nice, arrived at the campsite and we walked along the beach to Cannes.

 

She told me about a girl in her hotel who had met a great looking young guy on La Croisette who invited her for a drink on his yacht.  She went with him and then asked if she could go to the toilet.  When she came out, the hatch was locked and she was stuck inside the yacht and there was an old naked man in front of her.  She had to use her bag to break a window to get out.

 

We got into the Kodak pavilion and, having learnt well from Helena the day before, I managed to bullshit my way in quite well.  Actually, I was interested to learn how it all worked, and played twenty questions with a Producer from Paris.  Vicky said I was a supreme bullshitter.

 

Vicky and I decided to move on and go sit on the beach where we saw a bimbo - unbelievable! - doing the on-camera frolic on the sand.  Vicky went back to Nice and we arranged to meet there the next day.

 

I went back to the campsite and hung out at the bar.  Back on the vodka and orange.  Met some producers from Belgium and had a fascinating conversation.  They were explaining to me that the competition at Cannes was not at all the important part.  It was a trade fair, with deals being made, primarily with distributors.  This was like all other festivals but Cannes was unique in that everything was concentrated on La Croisette and the public were involved.  Most festivals were completely closed to the public.  Although you do have to have a conference pass - so actually be in the business - to get into the enclosures. 

 

I found out that movies take years and years to make and that there can be two years between the time the movie is finished filming and when it hits theatres.  I didn't know that movie distributors weren't the ones who actually made the movies - I thought that the movie studio just did it all.  Also ideas can be sold to distributors before they are even made if you have a big enough star signed up to do it.  It was fascinating.

 

Met three guys who had arrived at the campsite who were traveling by bike, and spoke to them about South Africa.  Rudiger and Emannuel (more campsite inhabitants) came back from a screening at 2am with Laurent, a journalist for the Air France in flight magazine.  Emmanuel gave me a ticket to a screening at 8:30 the next morning because Rudiger didn't want to go to a film that early.

 

The official screenings of movies go on in the Palais all day and the 8:30 ones are unpopular because people have been partying the night before and don't want to get up.  Rudiger's loss, my gain!

 

Christophe suddenly started warming up to me at the end of the evening... payment for free accommodation again.  Men are so predictable when it comes to sex.

   

 

 

My memories of this time

 

Staying alone in France when my friends decided to drive back to the UK was a big deal for me.  But we were so sick of each other by that stage that we were ruining each other's experience of the journey.

  

The trouble with me is that I am an anxious person.  I didn't know that back then, of course.  So I did stuff on my own but I didn't necessarily just take a breath and relax into the whole thing.  I have very few memories of this time because when I am anxious my brain spends all it's time dealing with that, neither enjoying the present nor storing the memory to enjoy in future.

 

This is one of those classic examples where you think to yourself "If only I could go back and do it again..."

 

If I could beam back to my 20-something body and be in Cannes, in summer, at the Film Festival, I know I could find a way to end up with one of those "power producers" and, if I had to pay for accommodation with sex, at least have it be in a five star hotel.

  

 

  

22 May - Cannes

 

Woke up and went to the screening - Ken Loach's "Land and Freedom," about an idealistic young Englishman who ends up fighting against Franco in the Spanish Civil War.  Went with Emmanuel and Laurent.  Ended up crying my eyes out in the movie with no tissues in sight and having to sniff.  Disgusting.

 

There were people standing outside the Palais in the morning, before the screening, yelling "Any extra tickets?  On a des billets?"  Apparently a lot of people have extra tickets because the people they were going to come to the screening with haven't got out of bed yet.  Pity I didn't know this before because I would have been at the Palais at 8am every morning.

 

After the movie we had coffee in some computer graphics special effects place (Goddammit, it really pisses me off that I have no memory of this at all), and I thanked Emmanuel and Laurent and left.  I went back to the campsite and got the stuff I wanted to post to myself in London.  Pascal - Christophe's sidekick - kindly came with me to La Bocca to post it all.

 

I brought some Guinness for Christophe to say thanks for the accommodation and went back to the campsite to give it to him.  He was really offish and said he didn't like it.  What a shit.

 

(As I look back on this now I realize that I was, and still am in many ways, a victim of my own insecurity.  It never occurred to me back then - and I am still not sure about it now - that there may have been the chance that Christophe really liked me.  That he came to me every night because he wanted to, not because I was staying for free and he was "demanding payment" and that he didn't like my gift because he didn't want me to leave.)  

 

 

I got my stuff together and said goodbye.  Saw Helena as I was leaving and Pascal walked me to the bus stop.  I was sorry to leave them all behind, but these groupings of people are transient, and you just have to have fun with them while you can.  

 

I went to a hostel in Nice - traveling on my own for the first time and really nervous.  Vicky wasn't there.  I found out she was at the other hostel in town.  I had screwed up.

 

 

23 May - Nice

 

Got up and arranged my stuff.  Tried to get hold of Vicky and couldn't.  I got scared being alone and decided to leave Nice. 

 

I called Tante M but she said she was going out and could not collect me, bla bla bla, so I said I would go to my cousin Caroline.

 

I couldn't get hold of her either so I went to find out about a train to Ales.  The guy at the guichet told me it was leaving in 2 min so I just got on it.   The train was delayed so I had to run for the next train at Nimes so I couldn't call Caroline there either.

 

(Remember, this was before cellphones.)

 

In Ales I called her and said "Hello!  Guess where I am!"

 

She was amazing about it and came and picked me up right away.

 

Jean, Fifi and Leontine, her kids, accepted me right away and I felt so at home.

 

Watched the opening of the World Cup Rugby in South Africa.  Not particularly great.  They had PJ Powers singing which I thought was mortifying.  For God's sake!  Isn't she dead yet?

 

 

( There are so many different paths I could have taken on this trip.  I could've got a job in a bar and spent the whole summer in Cannes with Christophe, saving money to travel more after that.  I could have chosen to find the right damn hostel and go back down to Spain with Vicky, experiencing the same country but in a different way.  Not making the effort to find Vicky is one of the top ten on my lifetime regrets list.

 

This is why we say youth is wasted on the young.  When we are young and free enough to do these crazy things, we are too stupid to really appreciate them.)

 

 

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post. 

 

The Incredible Journey - 16 May, 1994

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home and entries from my diary. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up. 

 
The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

16 May - Cannes

Went into Cannes to the Waterfront.  Saw the Palais des Festivals and went to the tourist office there.  Found out that the Cannes Film Festival starting next day!  BONUS!

Found a campsite and I slept most of the afternoon - still knocked out by flu drugs. Carried and Varla played pool with some guy who worked at the campsite.

We decided to go to dinner and ask the campsite people where we should go.  They told us about a suburb down the road called La Bocca and we decided to leave the camper in the total mess it was in and go there to eat.  This was unusual for us - we would usually straighten it up - but it turned out to be a Godsend.

When we got out of the restaurant - and we had parked not even 200m up the road - we found we had been robbed.  The small triangular window pane was on the floor next to the car - not even broken, just taken out.  They had not found much in the mess but had taken Carrie's blue bag with all the films of her photos taken during the course of the whole trip, souvenirs and Varla's air ticket.  All they had taken of mine was my backpack attachment wit my clean underwear in it.  I would have loved to have seen their faces when they opened that!

We went down to the Police and filled in a report just like the other three sets of people standing there.  We brought them the window pane - which had fingerprints on it.  They were not interested: "We don't do that - this is not America!"

Obviously Festival time is a major crime time and they just didn't care.

Carrie was furious and took us driving around the area where we had been robbed in the hope we would find our bags dumped somewhere by the roadside.  She kept driving up alleys and shining the brights while Varla got out to take a look around.  I was getting tense, thinking this was a waste of time but I guess if something more important than my underwear had been taken I would have felt the same.

When we got back to the campsite we saw Christophe and his sidekick and he said that La Bocca was a bad area and that he had told us not to take our car.  What a crock of shit.  IF it was so bad, why did he send us there in the first place?

17 May - Cannes

Went into town and tried to sort out all the crap caused by the robbery.

We went to the Police station to report what was stolen.  They said we had to go to La Bocca Police Station because it had happened there, and that that only reason we had been able to report it to shit station the night before was because the La Bocca one had been closed.

Went to the travel agent to ask about Varla's plane ticket.  They said they could not help and we would have to call KLM.

We went to the Post Office and, when I finally got to the front, I was told air letters were sold at a different counter!

Went to the Automobile Club and - finally! - met someone helpful.  She really went out of her way for us while we were trying to sort out our International Drivers Licenses.  She could not issue new licenses though, and said we would have to travel with our photocopies of our licenses with the Police Report to prove the originals were stolen.

(One of the best pieces of advice we were given as travellers was to photocopy everything multiple times and to even leave copies with a trusted friend who you could call if you had to have copies faxed to you.)

I decided we should have something to drink and that I would treat Carrie and Varla to a drink at one of the excruciatingly expensive sidewalk cafes amongst the festival crowds.  Varla was not interested in trying to have a nice moment in the face of all of this and only Carrie and I had something to drink.  Two drinks cost 7 Pounds.  Ripoff supreme.

We went back to the Police Station to find out about Lost Property only to find the station was closed!

Went to the train station to call KLM about the plane ticket.  They said they could issue a new ticket in Nice but that it would cost 300FF!

We went back to the Travel Agency to find out why they charge 300FF and met 3 Aussie girls in worse straits than us.  They had been on their way from Italy and had decided to come off the motorway to drive through Cannes just to see it.  They had got caught in Festival traffic on the waterfront and got a bag snatched from the back seat.  They were also trying to sort out their stuff.

At about 6, we went down to the Palais des Festivals and joined the crowd to see the guests arrive for the premiere.  We did not know it at the time but found out later it was Cite des Enfants Perdus so none of the starts meant anything to us.  The crowd was what made it worthwhile.

People were shoving each other, some had brought stepladders to stand on, 5 young boys just behind us were testing the strength of the branches of a tiny tree, people at the back where shouting "Qui est?" and getting answers passed back from the people in front. There were also hilarious comments being shouted out like, when the stars got out of the cars in front and did not turn around to acknowledge the crowd, some guy kept yelling that it was because they were ugly.

We did not know the French actors, but I did recognize Jean Reno from the Big Blue.

We went back to "le camping" and played pool with Christophe.  Same situation as always - I thought he was cute but he only had eyes for Carrie and Varla.  Well, please - who wouldn't?

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

 

 

The Incredible Journey - 13 May, 1994

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home and entries from my diary. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up. 

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

13 May - Montpellier

We were staying at my aunt's house.

Carrie and Varla cleaned the campervan and I showered.  How wonderful to be clean again!

Manette (cousin no. 1) came with her boyfriend.  They are involved in a direct marketing company which sounds like a pyramid scheme to me.  I didn't tell them what I thought of their chances of making any money.

Paul (cousin no. 2) popped his head in to say hello. 

Pascal (cousin no. 3) arrived with his girlfriend.  Nice to see him again.  He used to be such a beautiful boy but adulthood has not been kind to his face.

Tante M (my aunt) offered to take us on a tour of Montpellier and she showed us around the old and new part.  The new stuff being built by the council is wonderful.  (I was later to hear that this development had almost bankrupted the town.)

In the park we had a stroke of luck - we saw Pascal's two kids who live with their mother and just happened to be in the park that day.  I would not have got to see them otherwise as it was not P's weekend to see them and apparently relations with the mother are not friendly.

(As I transcribe this now, I wonder if my aunt didn't engineer this meeting in some way). 

That night Manette took me to la boite (disco) at a touristy place.  Carrie and Varla didn't want to come.  It was a club where J worked as a bouncer.  I had a reasonably good time (the people there were all kids but I did dance to some techno in a way that is sure to be recounted at the next family dinner), and it was nice of M to take me out.  

We got home around 4am, so it can't have been bad.

I have absolutely no memory of this evening which is a pity because it sounds like I had a good time.  

As I typed this entry I realize that my aunt and cousins must have planned logistics to make sure that I had a chance to see everyone in the family, which is no small feat considering all my cousins were adults and had left home.  

Of course I didn't see this at the time.  If I had, perhaps I would have been more appreciative.  Instead, I am ashamed to see that I judged them - with the arrogance and ignorance of someone in their early 20s.

14 May - Montpellier

Caroline (cousin no. 4) and her kids Jean (massive for a boy of ten), Fifi (very much the coquette and God knows where she gets it from - not her mother) and Leontine (an adorable typical Leo with a mane of curly blonde hair and the soul of a true feminist), came for lunch.  Caroline's husband is away at work on an oil rig.  Paul and his family came too:  wife A and kids F (4) and L (3 years old).  It was a lovely family day and I felt a small taste of being at home again.  Of course this made me as homesick as it did happy but that's life.

Caroline is really cool.  She reminds me so much of her sister, who lived with us in South Africa). 

Paul had a look at our camper.  He seems to be Mr Handyman of that section of the family.  He was polite and tinkered around a little but I got the impression he would be telling them in privacy that he doubted the thing would get us around Europe.

I think possibly Carrie and Varla were feeling very left out as they kept to themselves so much it bordered on rudeness.  I understand they were perhaps finding it a pain to visit my family but, at the same time, this was the first time we had slept in real beds in weeks and had access to decent plumbing.  Certain things are worth a little sacrifice.

In the evening we watched a movie with Tante M.  Nice to have a normal day at home again.

The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey - The Itinerary

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.

 

 

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up.

 

I have peppered these posts into my blog, so if you want to read them in order, here's the list:

 

• 16-18 February: London
  • Hard Rock Cafe
  • Picadilly
  • Harrods
• 19-20 February: London
  • Buying the campervan
• 4 April: Paris
  • La Defense
  • Pere Lachaise cemetary
• 7 April: Northern France
  • Chatelaillon la Plage
  • Mehirs in Camaret
• 8 - 11 April: Northern France into Spain
  • San Sebastian Donisto
  • Santander
•  13 - 14 May: Montpellier
  • Visiting with family
• 16 - 17 May: Cannes and Nice
  • Robbery!
  • Cannes Film Festival
• 19 - 23 May: Cannes
  • Nice's museum of modern art
  • I get to see a film at the festival
  • I hook up with the campsite boy
  • I split from Carrie and Varla
• 23 - 31 May: Brissac
  • Pont du Gard
  • Street Feria
  • Picking cherries
• 1 - 7 June: Brissac
  • Village of Tharaux
  • More time with the cousins

The Incredible Journey - 11 April, 1994

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

 These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

11 April 1994

Bordeaux

Letter

   

Dear Mom and Dad and family,

    

I must try and think when it was that I last wrote so I can tell you what's happened since then.  I think it was from the Laverie [laudromat] at Chatelallion La Plage.  That was on the 7th.

 

After leaving the village we headed towards Bordeaux.  It was getting late so we stopped before the actual town and had supper at an Auberge in Pugnac.  I don't think the food was traditional.  Basque fare as such, but we really enjoyed it nevertheless.  FF50 for potage, plat de charcuterie, turkey leg and pasta, cheese and dessert.  Then cafe and - of course! - baguette and WONDERFUL house wine.  We asked the owners if we could park in their backyard and they were very kind [this means we spent the night in their parking lot].

  

 

8 April

 

Decided not to go to Bordeaux but find a chateau in the area at which to taste wine.  Not much open on a Saturday, but found a sweet little farmer at "Graves d'Ardonneau" [see the link - they seem to have come a long way since then].  He was bottling so the cave was cleared of the bar and usual reception facilities, but he let us taste a wine anyway [He was clearly charmed by the prettiness of Carrie and Varla.  His wife wasn't and came into the shed and was clearly hoping we would leave].  We bought a bottle for FF21.50.

  

Bypassed Bordeux and went to the Dune de Pyla.  45m high and 3km long.  Amazing.  Climbing up it was hell.

  

[There were guys sand surfing down the back of the dune into the forrest below.  It was bizarre.]

  

   

   

   

   

Down to Behobie - no-one at the border post.  Tried to get info and all I got was: "There is no more border post!"  So we paid for Spanish and Portuguese visas for nothing [for more on this, see the Post Script in this post].  Then Shengen thing is in effect.

  

Anyway we carried on down to San Sebastian Donisto.  Lovely tourist town.  Perfect bay with island in the middle - it's called La Concha [the shell] ]because of its shape - the island being the pearl.  Camped at a site called Igueldo - 10 layers of parking carved into the moutainside overlooking the bay.  Really nice facilities. 

  

  

9 April

 

Had a look at the little funfair on Monte Igueldo, then went down into town.  By this time tensions were building because we all wanted to do different things.  Carrie and Varla want to go to the beach all the time and I don't see the point.  Why fly all the way to Europe to go to the beach when you can pay much less and go [from South Africa] to Mauritius? 

  

Anyway, we headed towards Santander and, as it was getting late, camped in a town about 10km before Santander.  Awful campsite - left early.

  

  

10 April

   

Drove to Santander, sat a little shop on the beach and sorted out our differences over tortilla, rabas [fried calamari rings\ and "hamburguesas" with cafe con leche (served in a glass - lovely).  Went into town to try and find out how to convert our visas into a Shengen visa.  We are travelling on our French one, which is only for a month because we spaced our visas out according to the dates we'd be in each country.  Oh no, sorry, I'm wrong.  Our French visas are till end Aug, but we need to find out if they are valid for Germany and Benelux or if we have to have a Shengen visa.

 

Anyway, no luck on that score, so we found a campsite just out of town.  Nice facilities but not in full swing because it is not high season yet.  It has a bar, restaurant, pool.

 

 

11 April - today

  

One of our decisions made was that we must slow down and stop driving every day, so we stayed here today and went to the little beach nearby.  

 

It was completely enclosed by cliffs so sheltered from the wind.  Very dirty though - lots of litter.  Topless tanning all around us, of course.  The Spanish have a different attitude to nudity.  

 

I spent a few hours there and then had had enough, so I came back to the camper [van] and ended up talking to 4 Spanish guys camping on the "parsella" (campsite) next to ours.  Communication difficult.

 

And that's about it.  We are now cooking supper - our gas stove and fridge work like a charm - and we leave for Madrid tomorrow.  

 

I will be sending a cuddly toy I bought on the Champs Elysees (Disney Shop) for [my nephew ].  It is "Flounder" - the fish in The Little Mermaid.  If you think it's too childish for him, give it to [my niece].

 

My love to all.  Missing you and looking forward to having a letter waiting for me at [my Aunt's house].

 

Buenos Dias!  Or Ciao (?) 

 

   

   

 

Post Script

My key memory from this time was us going to a bar and Carrie asking the barman for "Tapas".  He didn't speak much English, but pointed to a menu on the wall behind him that listed various small dishes.

 

We read it and there were things like patatas bravas, but nothing called "tapas". 

 

Carrie was confused.

 

"No," she said, "we want Tapas!"

 

I began to get the picture, and tried to explain to her that "tapas" was an umbrella term, but it took a little while for it to sink in.

 

This is the thing when you are a foreigner.  You grow up hearing vaguely about something and you think it is a particular thing.  Like Silicon Valley.  You won't be able to drive along the 101 highway and find an exit marked Silicon Valley.  It's just a slang term for a general area.

 

But, when you live in another country, and you hear a term, you form a picture in your mind, and it's there for years until, sometime in adulthood, it's challenged.

 

On the surface, you could look like a total moron, but it's a clash between an assumption you've held for ages and the evidence in front of you.

 

Still, I got to take the piss out of Carrie and it was bloody funny!

  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

  

   

The Incredible Journey - 7 April, 1994

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.  

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.   

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

7 April 1994

Chatelaillon La Plage

Letter

Dear Family,

I am sitting in a laundromat in Chatelaillon La Plage.

As we were in the car leaving the B's [friends of my parents that we stayed with in Paris], Mrs B told us that the North coast is lovely and we should go there.  So we changed plans at the last minute (they thought we were mad) and decided to head towards Brest instead of Bordeaux.  

We went up to St Malo and camped just outside it at St Servan.  If you look France you see a headland on the Northwest which juts out.  That's where we were.  Anyway, the campsite was on a hill overlooking the sea and was beautiful.  We cooked on our little stove.  Next day we braved the showers (YUK).  Camping the night cost us 62 French Francs.

We drove to Dinan and walked around the medieval bits of the city.  Had a hamburger for lunch.  We needed to taste familiar food again.  We then drove to St Brieuc and took the subsidiary road which winds along the coast.  We got lost and were driving around in the dark [this was before GPS, Children].  We kept seeing signs saying "Camping", following them and not finding anything.  Eventually we found ourselves on a road in front of which was a tiny patch of grass next to a river.  There were boats parked and houses behind us.  So we stopped and slept.  I will never know where were were that night.

In the morning we drove to Camaret and saw a circle of menhirs.

Seems they don't really shape them as well as Obelix does.  

We drove to Point de Penhir which is a point that juts out [into the sea].  We parked at the flat parking which is about half the size of a soccer field and encircled by rocks put down as markers.  There were rock faces down to the sea all around us and it was very misty.  We could only see about 50m out to sea.  It was a very weird scene.

We drove to Quimper, bypassed it an went on to Nantes.  Argument as to whether to carry on to Bordeaux or not.  By heading West from Paris we had completely messed up our planned budget and it irritated me that we only saw 1/10 of Paris and now suddenly we were slowing down and seeing every damn coastal hamlet.  It is still cold here and I think it's pretty pointless to seek out the seaside when we'll be on the Costa Brava and South coast of France when it's really hot.

Also, I don't want to end up bypassing Bordeaux.  I don't care where we go in other countries but, in France, I have certain demands.  Carrie and Varla are interested in totally different things to me.  For instance, I don't see the point of spending an entire morning at a marche [outdoor market] no different to the Bruma Lake Flea Market.  

So, anyway, Carrie suggested the compromise of stopping half way to Bordeaux, so we ended up here.  The beach is boring, empty and cold.  You can imagine how charmed I am.  I am beginning to think I really should take advantage of the face that our visa is still end of August and come backpack by myself.  The way visas are going we will only do France, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland and Austria, anyway [HAH!  We ran out of money way before that].

Well, we will hopefully be in Bordeaux by tonight and, if they'd rather go to a beach than on a wine route tomorrow, I swear I will pack my backpack, buy myself a Eurorail pass and do this thing PROPERLY.

Missing you (and the sun)!

Love to all

Post Script

 In Varla's defense, she was much younger than us (about 18) and had lived inland all her life, so I guess seeing the sea was important to her.  She had come on this trip to be with Carrie - they were each other's first true loves - and I had come to absorb as much European culture as I could.  These two goals clashed, as did our girlfriend vs. old friend claims on Carrie, who was constantly torn between the two of us.

In truth, there was no way I would have had the courage to go backpacking on my own.  I needed them, and I could probably have been nicer.  If I had to do it again, I'd have left them alone for a day or two and then met up somewhere pre-agreed.  But this was before cellphones and email and IM and Facebook and so, if you weren't where you were supposed to be, when you were supposed to be there, you missed each other.  A real deterrent for striking out alone.

I was, of course, a total gooseberry, because they wanted to spend time together.   They ended up buying a tent and letting me sleep alone in the camper van.  Score for me!

There is also a story to tell about the visas.

This was before the official unification of Europe so currency and visas were a real pain.  But that's not what caused the real problem.  That came from a total bitch who I hope rots in hell, experiencing constant pain and degradation.

She ran a visa agency and, instead of telling us at, on the 5th of April (four days after we left), the Shengen visa came into effect, which meant we only needed one visa for Belgium, France, Germany, Luxemburg, Portugal and Spain.  Instead, she charged us for a visa for each country.  So she made three young women, who were using a currency that was very weak against the pound, by 4 visas they did not need.  That's 4 X 3 X £10, plus each embassy's fee.  She made over £200 out of us, unethically.  That was enough for us to travel an extra week.

Fucking bitch.

When we were in Spain trying to get a visa for some country or other that we didn't even get to, a nice young man explained to us that we didn't need it.  We had been worrying about visas for later countries and spending whole days at embassies.

I don't do voodoo or juju but, if I did, I'd have cursed that woman the day I found out.

My only solace was the knowledge that her piss-ant visa agency was probably going to go bust, because holiday travelers to Europe wouldn't need her, and business travelers that went further afield would probably not use a small company like hers.

BITCH.

Yes, I'm STILL bitter.

BITCH!

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 19 - 20 February, 1994

  

  

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

20 February 1994

Surey, South of London

Fax

Mom,

Stupid mistake.  Forgot to bring photocopies of proof of my degree and diploma [for the recruitment agency].  In the boxes (I think in the one in the top left cupboard in my room) is a flipfile with old CV plus all documentation.  Could you please get copies of degree results and diploma results.    

Look for them now and I'll get you a fax No. to send them to.    

If you can't find that, a photocopy of my actual certificate from varsity is next choice.  Still in cardboard tube.  I think it's in the box above the mirror, or did I give it to you?   

Please try to get this stuff out for me.  Will contact you soon.  Letter already on it's way.   

Love you lots.

PS Settled in with Carrie.  Nice place.  

20 February 1994

Surrey, South of London

Letter

Hello!

Carrie [a teacher] on holiday (schools closed), so ran around today on errands.  All over the tube and trains plus took 1st ride in a London Taxi.  In such good condition.  By the way, city streets very clean.  

Insured camper van (law here) at "Down Under Insurance" who specialise in insurance for touring Kiwis, Aussies and us.  They gave us a sticker with a cartoon Springbok behind a steering wheel which says "South Africans On Tour."  Great!  We are going to stick it over the Aussie sticker which is on the van at the moment.  [I don't remember where we bought the camper van.  But is was a Ford, well used, and green.]  

Went shopping when we got back at Tesco's.  I absolutely COULD NOT BELIEVE the prices.  Some examples: 1 litre lemonade... 26p.  Huge bag of 6 packets of chips different flavours... £1.23.  The most amazing range of tinned and dessicated products - we are stocking the camper now.  

Carrie wants to go touring on 1 April, which came as a bit of a shock to me.  I suppose it would be best to go before peak summer season.  I don't know.  She has worked it all out... route, visas, etc.  Should cost £1,300.00.  I am undecided.  What work can I do for 1 month?  Should I go visiting and see England, tour, and then come back and work?  On the other hand, if I don't go with her then I have all the transport costs and the loneliness of doing it by myself.  I will sit down tonight and work the money out.

It's not easy being a smoker in this country.  It isn't a case of finding a no-smoking zone... it's the other way around!  I have become distinctly irritated.   

Public TV is marginally better than SABC.  There are 4 channels though so imagine 4 TV1s - you can generally find something entertaining.  There seem to be a lot of game shows.  Blind date, etc.  Carrie told me about a programme called Gladiators - a team of beefy men and women who are challenged by civilians - usually salespersons - and compete in silly things like knocking each other off a greased pole with pillows.  Unfortunately this house doesn't have Sky TV - no pay channels.  

The house set up is OK.  It's £30/week each for everything, and we can do our washing downstairs, which gets hung all over the radiators to dry.  The family downstairs consists of the mother and 2 daughters.  Boyfriend lives 3 roads away and has 2 small kids.  He used to be a concert pianist.  They are VERY untidy.  Like PIGS actually.  The flat only has one hob, so if buy oven stuff we cook it downstairs.  They seem not to mind our being here at all.  Brits must be used to close quarters.

 British transport service is amazing.

My ear is getting better but that medicine really knocks me for 6.  Felt very dazed all day.  BRIT AWARDS taking place as I write this.  Madonna here for them.  Big deal of course.  Wish she was doing a concert.

That's all for now.  Write soon as we will probably leave 1 April.  This house up for sale so prospects of accommodation uncertain.  Another reason to move on I suppose.

Miss you!

 

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 4 April, 1994

   

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

4 April 1994

Paris

Letter

Dear Family,

Dad - thanx so much for your letter!  It was a lovely surprise and I got it just as we were leaving.  We extended our trip by a day so it was real luck that I was there to receive it.  

The B's [friends of my parents, who let us stay with them in Paris] have been extremely kind and generous.  Unfortunately, we arrived very late - +/- 11pm.  We underestimated the distance from Calais, forgot about the time change (1 hr forward) and got lost 4 times.  We couldn't phone because every phone booth we fond was for phonecards only.  Anyway, we ate and went to bed.

On Saturday Mr B lent us his phonecard, guide of Paris, bought us train tickets, gave use more tickets, and walked us to the station.  Mrs B made us a picnic lunch, and we were dispatched to Paris.  We saw Tour Eiffel (mindblowing), then Place d'Etoiles to Louvre by foot.  Lunch in the Tuilleries, walked to Notre Dame, then home by RER [Paris trains].  

On Sunday we went cycling around the park of the Chateau [Versailles] and saw the Hameau, etc.  In the afternoon we went back and saw the 1st floor section.  Unfortunately the grounds and 2nd floor section were closed by the time we got out.

TONS OF TOURISTS!  (Les Japponais!)

On Monday we went to La Defense which was amazing.  Then Sacre Coeur, Cemetiere de Pere Lachaise and Beaubourg.  

At the cemetary we saw a large group of Italians searching for Jim Morrison's grave.  They walked into a central part, saw some young people and shouted "Ou est Jim?"  It seems that's what everyone goes there for.  I'm proud to say we also took the time to see Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Marcel Proust and Chopin.  The B's have never been there!

Beaubourg is a fascinating area but Centre Georges Pompidou is yukky.  

I bought sunglasses the same shape as my glasses (but bigger) which fit quite well over them so I can drive without getting headaches.

Today we gave a speech at Mrs B's English class about South Africa.  Only Carrie and I went - Varla packed the camper.

Just as we were about to head off for Bordeaux, Mrs B said the coast near Rennes is beautiful, so we are on our way there instead.  They think we are mad changing our minds at the last minute.  They are FAR too uptight.

Mrs B's daughter is studying for exams.  3000 take the exam for 600 places!  She has 4 months to prepare.  Much pressure.

We are approaching Rennes now, so I must navigate.  Excuse writing - bumpy road.

Oh yes, camper cost £702.50 plus £90.00 for spares [My father probably asked me the price in his letter.  Prices of things always fascinated him].  Next time, I CHOOSE the car to buy.

Love you

Post Script

I have to add more detail to this letter.

First, my adult impressions of Paris are here.

Second, I'd like to tell you more about our trip to Pere Lachaise.  It was an amazing experience for me.

We came out of the tube and found ourselves at some minor side entrance.  There was no gate or staff or anything.  So we started to walk around the perimeter to find the main entrance.  Instead we stumbled on a small store which sold maps of the famous graves and assured it was OK to use the side entrance.

It's strange to be in a place that is a tourist attraction and yet also is a cemetery and should be respected as such.  I was therefore shocked and irritated by the Italian students running through the place, laughing, and yelling "Where's Jim?" in French to anyone they saw.

Some of the graves were very grand, and others quite modest.  A few were recent, but many were hundreds of years old and in awful, depressing disrepair.

I don't believe in cemeteries and this is part of the reason why.  If something is old enough, give money to keep it in good nick.  Otherwise, sell the lot again and bury someone on top.  Land is precious.  No new cemeteries should be built, anywhere.  When I die, get rid of me as environmentally consciously as possible.  My body is probably too full of chemicals to let me degrade into the earth, so just burn me.  No casket, no urn,  no bullshit.  Spend the money on getting drunk and telling stories about me.  No physical memorials.  My time is done.  Continuing to take up space is unethical and pure vanity.

But I digress.  Back to Pere Lachaise.

Jim Morrison's grave was very weird.  Firstly, I was annoyed that idiots had sprayed graffiti on graves around his and some of them had been broken.  There was a girl standing there crying, and some other fuckwit sitting on a neighboring gravestone smoking weed.  It was a very strange atmosphere and I couldn't help but feel that, if Jim could manifest, he'd tell them all to fuck off.

Jim Morrison's grave

Oscar Wilde's grave was a totally different experience.  It's a huge mausoleum/statue thing.  But that's not what was interesting about it.  

When we got there, there was a young man at the grave site, who was with a female friend.  He was asking her to take photos of him at the grave.  He looked really, really sick.  He was holding up a sign that said: "You can keep your Keats and Yeats... SUGAR!"

Being the year it was, I couldn't help but wonder if he had AIDS.  

He was crying, and it felt like we were intruding, so we took a quick picture of the grave and hurried on our way.  

Oscar Wilde's grave

Chopin's grave was unique, too.  Singularly beautiful, and obviously well looked after, it was surrounded by a small group of people who can only be described as cultured.  The visitors seemed to be wealthy, and were quietly paying their respects, whispering to each other.

I felt like his music should have been piped from the gravestone.  But maybe the cultured people would think that was tacky.

Chopin's grave

Because Carrie and Varla weren't particularly interested, I went by myself to find Piaf's and Proust's graves.

Again, each experience was unique.

At Piaf's gravesite were two sets of quite elderly people, who stood before it in utter reverence.  Piaf is an icon of French culture, one of those celebrities that an entire country claims as their own.  I felt a real respect and sorrow from the people there.

Proust's grave is hard to find because it is in a row of completely nondescript gravestones.  There was another man picking through the rows and we looked up at each other and smiled, knowing we were looking for the same thing.  

When I finally found the grave I wasn't sure if I felt respect or wanted to tell him that he put me through hell studying his books at University.  Still, you can't take anything away from the man who gave us an understanding of associative memory through a sweet biscuit (la Madeleine).

I felt strongly that the experience I had at each grave at Pere Lachaise said a lot about the celebrity in question:

• Jim's fans were a drug-fueled, disrespectful rabble who showed disproportionate displays of emotion (the girl who stood there crying was too damn young to have been born when the Doors were a hit)
• Chopin's fans were upper class, well dressed and well behaved
• Oscar Wilde inspired a gay man who was ill, and yet still had an amazing sense of humor
• Piaf still commanded a deep devotion, the amazing but tragic little bird who inspired and altered her country
• Proust's humble grave and scant visitors showed that he is, after all, an acquired taste.

Pere Lachaise cemetery was one of those amazing experiences that you sometimes have when you travel.  You go somewhere, thinking you'll just be there a little while, and that it won't be a big deal.  But in fact you end up being utterly drawn in and entertained while your perspective shifts and, in spite of yourself, you learn something.

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 16 - 18 February, 1994

  

  

  

    

  

  

   

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

  

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

   

  

  

16 February, 1994

London

Fax

  

   

Hello!

 

Arrived safe and sound!  Cold and wet but not too bad (+/- 6 degrees centigrade).  Have already made friends.  It's fun here.  

   

We are right in the center of everything and, believe me, its true money goes like water.  Have already spent the equivalent of over R500.00 - Camera, cigs, biltong for Carrie, lunch.  Scary!!!  My problem is I keep converting prices to Rands in my head, so I scare myself into not spending.

  

Thank you Thank you Thankyou for giving me this opportunity.  Will never forget it or regret it.  

 

Love you all.  Miss you already.

 

Fax me on XXXX-XXX-XXX XXXX.  I'll be here until Sat.

  

Lots of Love

   

 

     

17 February, 1994

London

Fax

  

   

Mom, 

 

Will post you stuff.  Please keep all in a box for me as souvenirs.  Thanx.

  

Hello from London!

  

Please fax this to BFF.  She is at fax XXX-XXX XXX.  Thank you.

  

We have done the following:  

  

Last night spent in London Explorer's Club Pub.  Pub food: Yuk!  Early night.  All exhausted.  Communal showers disgusting.

   
Today, went on our free sightseeing tour of London on the open deck bus.  Can hop off and on at stops 'cause buses every 15 min.  Time too short to take all in.

   

(By the way, carton of cigs stolen from my room - my first lesson.  5 of us sharing.  All my stuff locked now.)

  

We stopped at the National Gallery.  WOW!  Far too much to see.  Saw Van Gogh, Gaugin.  Took photo of the dome and got reprimanded by official.  Then St Paul's.  Also very beautiful.  Victoria Station absolutely confusing.  Trafalgar Square, Picadilly.  

 

I now know why low class Poms emigrate.  The educated ones appreciate the wonder and history and can't leave.  

  

Tonight, went to Planet Hollywood for dinner.  Played 2 virtual reality games.  This place is WONDERFUL.

  

Phoned Carrie.  Will go to her Sunday.  She says I can work too.  Will try Select agency.  GBP80/day.

   

Tomorrow Harrods.  

   

Love you all.  Ciao.

  

  

  

18 February 1994

Surrey, South of London

Letter

  

Hello Family!

  

I am now at Carrie's flat in Surrey.  I decided to come early because I got sick of the London Explorer's Club.  Once we did our London tour during the day and the Planet Hollywood visit, they were suddenly at a loss.  There were 12 of us, just come out of Planet Hollywood in the middle of London (Picadilly Circus), and we're all standing around in the street going "What do we do now?"  And whenever anyone suggested anything there was this vague silence.  Then we decided to go to Soho so we're all following this guy who knows the way, and they all lag behind and decide to go up a different street.  "Oh, we'll meet you around the corner" they say.  But this is LONDON.  This is Picadilly Circus.  This is Friday night.  This is thousands of people bustling around.  Needless to say the stupid little fools didn't manage to find us around any corner and - even worse - even though it was only 2 streets up, they didn't manage to find Soho either.

  

Then I wanted to go to a club and they were saying "But it's 5 to 11 and the tubes stop running soon!"  To try to explain that we have hit civilisation now which means a) clubs only open at 11 and b) welcome to the concept of the taxi, was futile.  By this stage I was completely irritated and, returning to cramped 5 in a room accommodation with plumbing from hell clinched it: I had had enough.

  

So I phoned Carrie this morning and said "I want out of here.  It's time to do my own thing."  So she came to London and met R and I (he's a guy in our group who I suppose I got on with the best.  It's probably 'cause we're older that the others.  He's 26 and been to London and Europe before).  

  

We went to Harrods first.  Ho hum.  Been there, done that.  Just a glorified Woolworths.  Selection and size impressive, otherwise no great shakes.  If you can afford to shop there... [rest of letter is lost]

  

  

  

 

Harrods

  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.