France: A Tourist Guide

This post comes courtesy of my co-rider, Eal Van Dyke.

If you have a taste for identical towns and cattle, head for the north-east of France, where cows outnumber people by something like ten to one. I’ve nothing against cows — good lads, on the whole — but by the two-hundredth one the novelty wears thin.

The south-east is the real prize. Proper scenery in the shape of the Alps, then wine country beyond it, and the further south you push the more sunshine you’re guaranteed — you can leave the raincoat at home. We never made it to Paris ourselves, so I can’t vouch for it personally, but I understand it’s meant to be rather good.

Two things have stood out on the food front: bread and wine. The bread has been consistently excellent, and we haven’t had a bad glass of red yet, though I’ll admit eight hours in the saddle makes almost anything taste like a treat. My palate’s reliable enough to know good bread and good wine when I meet them, even so. There’s surely better food to be found than what we’ve managed, given that most of our own cooking comes out of a tin, but bread and wine will do very nicely as highlights.

On the wildlife front, we’ve passed plenty of fellows we don’t get back home, though I couldn’t tell you what any of them are called — keep your eyes open and you’ll see something new soon enough. We’ve also come across five or six snakes, most of them dead in the road, which is still five or six more than I’d have liked. Someone ought to send for St Patrick.

The French, I’ve decided, work rather like the Irish in that they only really commit to half a day of it, so it’s worth checking ahead if you need something open — fair play to them, it leaves more time for boules. On the subject of toilets, I’d recommend packing a seat of your own, since the French seem to have gone off the idea entirely; a pack of wet wipes is the lighter alternative if you’re travelling light.

Mint-condition Citroën 2CV, for Greenman.

France has a reputation back home that I’d call entirely undeserved. Almost everyone we’ve met has been friendly and quick to help, and plenty of the old boys have had a go at a joke or two, which is a shame given the full extent of my French vocabulary begins and ends at please and thank you. It’s a country well worth the visit. Long live the king.