I had enjoyed the ski resort of La Clusaz in my last post and having left there we headed north towards Luxembourg. At least that was the intention, which in my modern Jaguar F Type, should present no problem……
Having not used maps at all on this journey, instead relying on GPS, I tended not to scan the system’s chosen route too carefully, or mentally store the landmarks that would guide me in the right direction, as I would with maps. The GPS system in the Jaguar is a dynamic system receiving traffic status updates from various road authorities in ‘real-time’ as we drive. It is programmed to flag-up traffic delays ahead and works out alternative routes avoiding the problems. Smart system, dumb driver! My preference when driving through unfamiliar areas is to observe the countryside as well as the road ahead, denying all other inputs to my brain (well that’s my excuse). At some stage early on in this particular day the GPS system flashed up a message regarding a traffic event and offering an alternative. The scenery around the Annecy area is beautiful, so I didn’t spare a thought for the GPS and just pressed the “Continue” button without reviewing the new route.
Forty kilometres later I discovered we were crossing the international border into Switzerland! Every instance when I have driven into Switzerland I have been stopped at the border and charged €40 for the privilege. This time I appeared to have got past the officials without paying. Trouble with that is, honest people expect the officials to catch-up with them, usually in the form of a police patrol. I thought perhaps the road we were on would just take us briefly in and out of Switzerland, but no such luck. In fact the route we were embarked upon took us straight through Geneva, keeping me on tenderhooks every time I saw a police vehicle. In fact Switzerland has joined the Schengen Area, setup by the European Union, giving unfettered passage across the borders, so I hadn’t broken any rules, but I only found that out later in the day.
Finally we re-entered France and I relaxed once more and went back to studying the countryside. We headed towards Epinal on the A36 which would be a drive of around 230 miles from La Clusaz. Thanks to the traffic congestion and Swiss detour we arrived in the area of Epinal at around 15:00. The initial impression was that it is an industrial and commercial centre, so I decided we would continue on for a little longer and look for a smaller country town or village. Some fifteen miles north we came across the town of Vencey and came across a hotel, the Logis Relais de Vincey, which I checked into for two nights. Having deposited my bags in my room I decided to explore the hotel and possibly get a coffee in the bar. That was when I started to question my choice of this hotel.
When we first arrived, the reception wasn’t manned and in fact there was no sign of any staff at all. I eventually had to ring a bell on the reception desk before someone appeared from the rear of the hotel. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, but now I started to look around I did began to wonder what experience I had signed up for here. I wandered outside and around the corner to the side of the hotel where I discovered the tennis court that the hotel brochure boasted of. It was similar to the courts I played on as a child, created in the 1950’s, a hardcourt (this was certainly hard, with a concrete surface). It would require a good sweep before you could play tennis and I wasn’t at all sure that the net would last more than a single set.
I moved on and completed a circuit of the exterior of the hotel looking for the advertised outdoor swimming pool. I was to later be directed to an elevated area of the grounds where this pool was located, but couldn’t be seen from the hotel level. I did however, spy the indoor pool which looked fine. I returned inside the hotel and, as I entered, the gentleman behind the reception desk stopped me and said, “I meant to tell you when you checked in that our restaurant is closed tonight in case you were thinking of dining with us.” I was so surprised by this that I totally missed whatever he said afterwards, but he did tell me that there were several restaurants in the village, just two kilometres away. Their restaurant would be open tomorrow evening if I wished to dine with them. I was questioning, in my head, why on earth had I picked this hotel?
I spent the following day walking beside a canal for several kilometres and then visiting a local military museum with many interesting items, predominantly from second World War. The majority of items were from the German forces, but some were from the American and British forces. The most unusual items were from the French Resistance.
Back to the hotel and with some trepidation I went down to the restaurant for dinner. I was surprised at the number of guests dining that evening as there had been precious few indications of them in the hotel previously. I made my selection from the menu then sat back to observe my fellow diners and, when I could see without standing on my chair and gawping over the heads of the waiter, I peered at the dishes as they came out of the kitchen.
Then my food started to arrive and my entire opinion of the hotel changed. The meal was sublime. I now understood that this hotel is merely convenient accommodation for people coming, from near and far, to dine in this restaurant.
The following morning we were back on the road and heading to Maastricht, the venue for ‘Maggi’s greatest victory in Europe’. I had gone on the internet, the previous evening, and decided to book a chateau style hotel and treat myself to a little bourgeois living before returning home weeks earlier than planned. Dinner the previous evening had put me in the mood. I would stay a couple of nights and explore Maastricht during the day.
I chose to take the route through the state of Luxembourg, skirting the city of Luxembourg, and driving due north through Ettelbruck and crossing Belguim just north of Liege. Maastricht is a little over two hundred miles from Vincey, so the drive was steady and without any major hold-ups. Our hotel, The Castle Vaeshartelt, is some six to ten kilomtres out of town, depending on the route taken. This was something I hadn’t catered for and was surprised that there was no readily available public transport other than a taxi. I was going to walk into the city, but then decided not to bother, but instead I would enjoy the large gardens, outside bar and sunshine for the day. So I can say that I have been to Maastricht, but I can’t tell you anything about the place. Maybe next time.
For the first time on a road trip I have decided to return home several weeks earlier than originally planned. So from Maastricht we were to return to Calais and take the Channel Tunnel train back to Folkestone. Half-way through the tunnel I decided that rather than going straight home I would head down to the county of Dorset where I had spent most of my childhood. Seventy years ago I would not have been able to find a vacant room during the August holiday period so I went online and found a hotel in the tiny hamlet of Eype, near Bridport. Eype beach is on Dorset’s, internationally renowned, Jurassic Coast. However, as a child I was blissfully unaware of such things. During the four days I stayed in Eype I visited Weymouth, the town in which my family lived. It is famous as the port where Bubonic Plague first entered Britain in 1348 and the part it played in the English Civil War. It was heavily bombed during the second world war and was a key embarcation point for American troops bound for Normandy in 1944.
I also spent a day in Dorchester, the county town of Dorset. I visited the County Museum which I hadn’t been to since I was fourteen years old. I always enjoyed the Roman history of the area and also Maiden Castle, a hill fort from before the Roman invasion.
At the end of those four days of memories we set out for home. The traffic chaos all the way home, just normal for the UK, made me wonder if returning early was such a good idea.
This has been the first road trip I have been on in the Jaguar, or any other modern car for that matter. The F Type Jaguar is a superb motor, comfortable, smooth, with jaw-dropping performance. It’s lines are so beautiful that it draws attention from other road users and pedestrians in the same way that a Ferrari or McClaren does, but that is different from the very vocal attention that the MG Midget draws. Having had time to reflect on why then, I decided to return home early, was because, even with all those benefits of the Jaguar, Bridget the Midget is much more FUN! For me eighty percent of the road trip time is spent driving and it is so much better if it’s fun.