Our trip to see Julian and Audrey’s wedding went well. Chantal and I set off for Stansted in plenty of time, but got slowed up by lorries on the A14. And then the car park instructions weren’t very clear. If the car park booking confirmation referred to “Pink Elephant Car Park” (which it did) you would have the thought that the signs would say “Pink Elephant” and not “Long Stay Car Park”, wouldn’t you? In the airport only one of the queues for check in had all the problems with people with dodgy visas. Our queue. I soon realised that I wouldn’t have time to buy a paper, go to the loo, or grab a snack. I’m afraid I got just a little grumpy by the time we met the rest of the family at the gate. However, by the time I’d eaten an Easy Jet bacon baguette, as recommended by Chris, I was feeling a little less grumpy. Considering that I was going to a wedding.
The wedding was near Valance, a very wet 2 hour drive south from Lyon. When we got there, the Bride’s extended family were brilliant, and had prepared a full meal for us all, even though it was late, before we headed for the hotel (more a large family B & B)
We had a chance to explore on the next day, and discovered a hill-top village on the side of the Rhone valley. Narrow steep streets leading up to more narrow steep streets which led up to the church at the top. Note all the “ups”. Ruthie was with us. Ruthie doesn’t normally do “ups”, but she did that day. We thought the church had a steam train service, but it turned out to be Ruthie getting her breath back. She vowed that she would not climb another hill again. Ever.
That night all the wedding guests (or so it seemed) had a BBQ at the Bride’s parents. The Plan: Arrive early, have a dip in the pool, and have a relaxed BBQ enjoying the warm and balmy evening.
The Reality: Bitter cold wind, with the Brits wrapped in fleeces (we Brits don’t take any forecast of warm weather for granted and always take a fleece) and the French huddled around the BBQ.
Fortunately the wedding day was glorious. The morning Civil Service at the local Town Hall (more of a village really) was a relaxed informal affair. We noted a few small café’s and bars in the village, and returned there for lunch. Why do French Café’s close for lunch? How does that work? We ended up with a greasy pizza in the suburbs of Valence, which made us late setting off for the church wedding, 40 minutes away. But we made it with a few minutes to spare. The service was in French, of course, but with “sub-titles”, ie half of the service book was in English, to help us to follow the service. This didn’t help with all of the sung prayers – I just wailed along as best I could. We then paraded the half mile along a country road to the Chateaux where the reception was to be held. Not good for ladies in high heels. As you would expect, we lined up to be greeted by the wedding couple. The French tradition of everyone kissing the Groom was a bit disconcerting – thank goodness Julian shaved twice before the ceremony.
We then had four hours of chatting on the lawn, drinking Pimms and Champagne, being served the most amazing selection of canapés (including cheese in a chocolate dip – interesting), while a jazz band played. Well, someone has to undertake these duties.
However even I can’t nibble for 4 hours, and still do justice to a 3+ course meal, but I did my best. The meal and entertainment went on until 5.30am, but we didn’t. I did manage to drag Chantal onto the dance floor for a Viennese Waltz (oh alright – more of a Viennese shuffle) before we left.
We had a great time in Paris afterward. We decided to use the Metro to get 5 of us plus 11 bags, across Paris from the train station to Julian’s apartment. Ruthie wasn’t used to those 3-pronged turnstiles that you get at most underground stations. As she walked through the first one, dragging her case behind her, the turnstile half turned, and jammed against the case, without actually letting Ruthie through. I attempted to help by tugging the case through. This freed the turnstile, and the freed “prong” promptly flipped forward, smacked Ruthie smartly on the bum, and catapulted her forwards onto the platform with a loud “JEESUS!”. The Americans had arrived.
Julian’s apartment was perfectly situated for the sites, only a few minutes from the Arc de Triomph. It was a bit of a “ticking off the tourist sites” couple of days – Eiffel Tower, river trip, Arc de Triomph, Notre Dam (where “we” paid £17 for 2 beers and a fruit juice. Luckily it was Leslie’s turn. Cheers Les), Sacre Coeur, Montmartre area (my favourite) and Moulin Rouge.
We walked miles, sometimes forgetting that Les and Ruthie aren’t as young as us (although Les wouldn’t admit that). Chantal and I plan to return for a much more relaxed few days.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
