We had been given a courtesy car by the English mechanic, so having left the car in his tender care on Tuesday, we took a detour home via Antibes for a haircut, then round the coast to Juan les Pins where we stopped for lunch.
We then did a loop walk around the coast on an excellent little path which wound around the coastline for about 1 1/2 hours. I'm sure the handrail wouldn't have been passed by the OSH police in New Zealand, but the French don't give a stuff - if your child falls through the toddler-sized gaps in the fence, its obviously your own silly fault for not handcuffing your child to your belt!
It was a very well constructed path, which was bordered by a huge private garden, with an impressive stone wall, and occasional glimpses of hard-working contractors maintaining the garden.
We did the return trip to pick up the car from the hospital on Friday. We decided to go the scenic route and look into a few of the hillside villages on the way to Mouans Sartoux. Views of Bargemon and Claviers en route, villages to come back to and explore in the future.
We were welcomed to the village by Monsieur Basset Hound, who ambled around the village, interacting with the public, and frequently sitting down the in the middle of the road when the conversation proved too exhausting.
We wandered around the narrow streets and alleyways, commenting on the number of cats that seemed to be around the village. Stopping at a small craft shop, we found a display of postcards outside - not the usual biscuit-box photos of the village, but photos of all the village cats, together with their names! Who would buy them, other than the poor deluded owners, to send to their extended families?!?
The fountain in the centre of the village was being put to good use by the restaurant nearby to cool bottles of wine. "Eau non potable" means "undrinkable water".....lets hope the wine was a more acceptable standard!
As it was lunchtime, most of the shops were closed (when do retail staff get to do their shopping...???) This pharmacy is obviously making a huge effort to attract customers, display their products and encourage you to spend your money there....
Fronting up at the mechanic's, he had kindly saved the removed organs for viewing, no doubt to justify the 1500 euro price tag (saying it quickly in English is less frightening than saying it in French, which begins with the word "mille", sounding far too close to a million to be comfortable). For the mechanically minded they include a dual mass flywheel complete with clutch plates etc, front brake discs and pads and air filter. It took 8-9hrs to get replace just the flywheel because on a Renault you have to remove the front bumper, the entire forward sections of sub frame, drop the motor almost out and then you can get access to the bell housing. We heard that taxi drivers who are mad enough to buy a new Renault Scenic (only happens in France of course) get the flywheel welded up to create a single mass flywheel before the car leaves the show room floor! Lasts forever apparently.
However, suitably reassured that we are now safe to be let loose on the rocky roads of Corsica, we quickly pressed the buttons to extract the funds from Mr VISA's clutches, and set off in the hope that we can have a rest from spending money on the car for a while.
The following day we decided to give the medieval theme a break, and head for some prehistoric history for a change, searching for some dolmens up in the hills behind Cabasse, a village about 15k away. As usual with France, any interesting historic site is guaranteed to have absolutely no signage whatsoever, and is usually at the end of a road marked "private, turn around now, or you'll regret it" or words to that effect. However, having an historian as a father, I have grown up searching fields for elusive signs of historical activity, so Lew and I confidently abandoned the car and walked up a forestry road determined to find our dolmen. What we found instead was a chapel in the middle of nowhere, with interesting religious graffiti on the walls!
Obviously it gets pretty hot around these parts in the summer, as the chapel had fantastic indoor-outdoor flow, with an open-air chapel nearby, complete with pews, an alter, and pulpit (plus dubious modern day vicar in situ!)
Abandoning the search for historical sites (my father will be disappointed by my lack of persistence) we drove into Cabasse and settled outside a cafe for croissants and hot chocolate. There seemed to be a lot of locals milling around at street corners, and after a few minutes, high-vis-vest officials appeared. Listening in on various conversations I decided my French was decidedly in need of improvement, as I thought they were talking about 900 motorbikes about to pass through the village. Impossible, given the tiny streets and the fact that we were way off the beaten track to anywhere. After a while, we went back to the car, drove 50 metres down the road......and met a frantically gesturing Frenchman on a motorbike, indicating that we had to get off the road.....NOW! We duly obliged, and after a minute or so, a cavalcade of motorbikes started to pass through the village. Not just any motorbikes mind you, these were Goldwings, the armchairs of the motorbike world. And this was not just a local club rally.....or even a national rally.....no, this was the WORLD rally.....and my French was better than I thought....there WERE 900 bikes passing through!! NZ was even represented.
Much hooting of horns, waving, silly costumes, and revving of engines followed. With no particular plan for the rest of the day, this was fine with us. However, a Frenchman doesn't like to be kept waiting....the traffic jam in the village that followed once the bikes had gone through was hilarious. The bike rally officials were doing their best to direct traffic, but Monsieur et Madame Campervan, who were in the 80's, driving a beast far too big for them, decided they had had enough and launched into the jam, determined to get home in time for lunch! After much waving of arms, swearing, 57 point turns, and more characteristic French behaviour, we managed to escape down a side road, abandoning all further plans for searching out interesting menhirs down the road!
Not to be put off by the experience, the next day we set off to find the beehive, otherwise known as a "puits arien".
This bizarre looking structure (sorry about the power lines, impossible to get a photo without them) was constructed in 1928, based on similar structures in Africa. The idea is to create water by generating condensation from the air flowing through the structure. Not being a Master of Physics, I will direct you to Mr Widipedia for more information:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Air_well_(condenser)
We thought it was a beautiful structure to have as your neighbour - its in a residential area, complete with planted garden, and, as previously mentioned with any historical building, completely devoid of any signs, plaques, or information board! There wasn't even a Mr Whippy ice cream van! Excellent!
So, we're off to Corsica for a week on Thursday. Looking forward to stunning scenery, mountain walks, and hopefully a few sea swims.
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