Le Franco Phoney

Pictured is a big round bunker — a bit like a giant Camembert cheese, but made by the Germans rather than the French, and far less desirable to chance upon during World War II. This is Batterie Todt, on the French coastline closest to English land. On the other side of the bunker is a massive hole that once housed a very large gun (more info and some great photos on the construction and history of the bunker here). There were lots of interesting things inside here, such as a motorbike that was parachuted out of planes for the parachuters to use and really innovative contraptions to make the best use of space, time or multi-functionality. The living quarters downstairs were cramped, and the museum of war-time propaganda on the ground floor really made this place worth the visit.

Some relics caught my eye more than others. For instance, check out this baby gas mask below. Freaky or what? Okay, it’s best to be safe and have these available but seeing a fake baby inside this was a bit strange (a real one would have been stranger, obviously!). Note also that there’s a foot pump to keep your baby’s air fresh and flowing. Next in the gallery below is a sausage vest. Okay, maybe it wasn’t used to store sausages, but maybe it was. Why not? Next up is a string vest that wouldn’t look out of place in some parts of big cities today. However, it’s probably the only one that unravels and can be relied upon to get you out of a tree if you happen to parachute out of a plane and land in the wrong spot. Handy eh? Last up is the big canon stationed outside the bunker. This thing was aimed at England, but it never actually bombed its target. Just imagine how things could have turned out had the engineer made a better-designed canon. Thank you, engineer.

On my last road trip, I came across this signpost in a lovely little village called Aignay-le-Duc. As you can see from the big photo, that’s actually three layers of sign posts, plus a couple facing a different direction. Want to get to Echalot? If you’re approaching from the road in front of these signs, you’re going to struggle: the close-up, side-on photo below shows how well it’s hidden in the main photo. The village has, perhaps, decided that placing directions to their own local shop signs might distract tourists. I can see it now:

Driver: “Hmm, which way to Echalot?”

Passenger: “Oh who knows, but look, there’s a patisserie to the left!”

…and then they’d be heading in the wrong direction. But at least they’d have happy bellies and the locals would be a bit richer.

Something else you might notice in the close-up photo is that one place is listed twice, but written differently. Not only is there an accent on the newer sign for Etalente, but an ‘e’ has been replaced with an ‘a’, making the place Étalante.

As for those villages listed below Etalante and Echalot on the old sign (somewhere ending in ‘Les Juifs’ and somewhere else on the Seine), I can only presume that at least some tourists have put their faith in the ‘Autres Directions’ (other directions) sign pointing left — and ended up in entirely the wrong place. Not to worry: they can always find the patisserie and stop in for a snack while they try to figure out where they are.

Beyond the big chicken of Bresse lies Fontenay Abbey. Close to Dijon, this abbey was a harsh place to live. The cold stone walls were built way back in 1118, and the heating was kept only to a minimum, with just the kitchen, the hospital and one other room heated, where monks would warm their freezing hands in order to continue writing. During the nineteenth Century, the abbey was turned into a paper mill, but by the twentieth Century, restoration work had begun, and today you have a tourist attraction.

The two buildings that you see in front here were added later, as you may have guessed by the style that’s a bit more modern than the twelfth Century! There are privately owned areas that the public aren’t allowed to enter. And, in fact, if you sit on the grass right next to the public walkway, a man will come over and ask you to get off the private property. Yes, I sat on the grass.

The most interesting things about the abbey were meant to be the lifestyle of the monks, the big ceiling made of wood that was like an upside-down boat hull, and the water mill. However, most of us on the tour were more interested in checking out the bats, the beehives and the jumping fish in the pond by the water mill. We also learnt that it’s quite difficult to take a good photo of a jumping fish.

I digress, but that’s kind of what I did during the tour of the abbey. I think, perhaps, in my ten years of looking at stuff that’s older than anything we have in Australia, I’ve seen so many abbeys, monasteries, churches and castles that I’m now just a bit underwhelmed unless they’re amazing. But the jumping fish, I’d go again to see them.

Here, you see a big chicken on a roundabout. The big chicken has several significations for me personally. Firstly, let me point out that the name brings back fond memories. We nicknamed a guy The Big Chicken years ago when I lived in Les Allues. He was a very overweight man who worked on the ski lift there, and when he saw some friends of mine devouring a whole chicken for breakfast on their way up the ski lift, his eyes were bulging with envy, and so, he became known as The Big Chicken.

But even before I knew of The Big Chicken in Les Allues, I had passed this particular big chicken many times. The metallic sculpture lives on a roundabout above the toll road that takes you towards the Alps. The first time I saw it, I was in a bus, so demanding a detour for a closer look was out of the question. The next time, I was driving as part of a convoy, and I had no way of stopping without losing my friends. Every time since, I’ve been in a hurry to drive back to England or back to the Alps and I’ve never taken the time to stop. That is, of course, until last week, when the road trip was much shorter and therefore more relaxed on timing. Now, I finally have my snap of the big chicken and I cannot describe just how happy this makes me.

You may be wondering why there’s a big chicken on a roundabout. Like many French roundabouts I’ve written about, this one signifies the produce from the region — Bresse. The area breeds good chickens for eating, and with their AOC status, they fetch a higher price than other chickens. The locals are very proud of their chickens, as this roundabout might suggest. The roundabout is visible from a great distance as the metallic sculpture is much higher than most roundabout decorations. Check the size of the car against the giant chicken. I wonder how many parents have had to stop after their kids have cried: “I want to stop at the big chicken.” Or is it just me? Before setting off, the obligatory photo of me standing in front of said big chicken with my best chicken stance (one leg raised, hands on hips, neck unnaturally forward) was taken. Now, if only I could get a photo of the Les Allues Big Chicken doing the same…

I’ve just come back from a quick visit to a friend in Zermatt. What an experience. After an amazing drive through the Alps (including an odd roundabout stuck in the middle of a two-way road, without any other intersecting roads), we arrived in Täsch. No, not Zermatt. Noooooo. No, to get to Zermatt, you must park your car (pay), then take a train (pay for that too) to the resort. Without your car, you might need a taxi (a battery-run car — not free either) to your accommodation, and if you’re skiing in summer, you’ll probably need a taxi (more money) in the morning, rather than walking uphill through town with ski boots on. Once you’re at the lift office, you’ll experience wallet shrinkage as every last Swiss Franc is squeezed out of it to pay for the day pass (CHF90) which is only valid for skiing until early afternoon, and if you can still afford a taxi back to your accommodation, perhaps you can use one of the other lifts to really feel like you’ve got your money’s worth out of the day (but remember to subtract the cost of the taxi home in ski boots).

Okay, apart from Zermatt being far too expensive, the place itself is great. The Matterhorn — or Cervino in Italian or Cervin in French —  dominates the town’s views, and it’s hard to find a postcard that doesn’t include it. The people are friendly and the food is varied. The village is pretty, relaxed and full of watch shops. One watch shop proudly advertises a watch brand with the quote: “Master of complications” and how true that is. Some cost more than €100,000 for the luxury of complication! The summer snow conditions were the best I’ve experienced, with a great cover that was a firm in the morning, but not rock solid, and softer later on, but not slushy. With only t-bars on the glacier, our legs — unaccustomed to skiing in summer — were tired before midday, but we kept at it because the snow was so good, dodging the racing teams and watching the few snowboarders on the piste do great things in the snow park.

Getting to the glacier for skiing involves three separate lifts: one telecabine then two telepheriques. So, after a morning of skiing, we then had to stand in two telepheriques before finally getting to rest our legs in a telecabine. Worse still, the connections between lifts are more than a few metres, making tired legs ache that little bit more between lifts. By the time we reached home, we were too tired to take any scenic lift rides, and it was too late in the day anyway.

We decided to go swimming. Zermatt has no public pool, so we went to a health spa. You might not think that CHF20 (€13) is worth it for a quick swim, but this pool was not just any pool. There’s a heated indoor pool, plus an overheated indoor/outdoor pool, complete with alternating water seductions such as bubbles for your feet, a whirlpool, bubble beds with mountain views, various water jets, some water fountains you can get a back and head massages from and two separate spas. The entrance fee includes a towel, which is handy, as we had left ours at home to save weight when carrying our bags between the car, the train and our accommodation (not far away enough to warrant a taxi, but far too far away to lug skis equipment and clothes). We stayed until closing, two hours later.

After seeing the fresh snow at the end of June on the peaks of La Clusaz, some friends and I were motivated to do a road trip to Tignes for a day of skiing on the glacier. We arose at 4.30am and left La Clusaz within half an hour. We took the easiest route to get there, through Albertville, stopping only for breakfast snacks from a boulangerie. Here’s what happened:

1. Arrived in Tignes at 7am to find the funicular closed due to high winds on the glacier.
2. Ate a second breakfast and came back for a half-day ticket at 10.30am (handy, as it’s cheaper, and the snow will have softened up).
3. Funicular opened, tickets bought, high winds kept the telepherique closed, but two drag lifts open.
4. On snowboards, two of us ice skated up a t-bar, while the other friend opted out and just had a hot chocolate in the sun.
5. Dodged racers on skis at the second ice rink of a t-bar, and made it to the snow park that had something resembling snow (all other pistes icy).
6. Friend got scared about all the cool dudes doing cool things, so we ice skated back down the piste and joined friend for hot chocolate.
7. Left the resort by midday.

However, the drive home really made up for the disappointing snow. Before hitting the beautiful Barrage de Roseland — a big man-made dam that reflects the most lovely blue hues amongst the green peaks surrounding it, we came across this old hotel. Out the back was a structure made for a pool and a water slide, but neither were there. Inside, a great square-spiral staircase wound right to the top. As you can see from this photo, the façade is growing trees. Some of the windows have some glass panels in them, but most of them are now just square holes. My friend, an avid Candide Thovex fan, realised straight away that this was the building used on the Coreupt ski team website, of which Candide is now a member. Just a week earlier, she had discovered (and visited) the boulangerie used to film the short video which I wrote about here, where Candide is abducted by the Coreupt team. In case you’re wondering, it’s in le Petit Bornand. And yes, she has photos outside the boulangerie and the hotel, complete with a large grin in each picture.

So, what happened to this hotel? Was it ever finished? Or is this the shell from a hotel that was once grand and frequented by tourists? It seems odd that some of the windows have glass panels if it wasn’t ever finished, but at the same time, the structure doesn’t show any signs of decoration marks on the inside. And surely they wouldn’t have added that wooden cladding if it wasn’t near completion. Maybe the construction workers went off to sample the snow on the Tignes glacier and were so mortified at the lack of snow that they moved to Utah. What do you think?

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not a war-lover, but while I was in the north of France recently, I was lucky enough to visit some World War 2 bunkers. The first one was Blockhaus d’ Eperlerques, where the V2 rocket was going to be prepared and launched. Many prisoners of war died here while making the building: they started by making the roof, which was then raised up as the layers beneath were built, like jacking up a car. The Brits bombed the site before it was finished and the Germans finally abandoned it. No rockets were ever launched. The photos below have some interesting captions, even if the photos themselves don’t seem all that interesting (click on the caption to enlarge the photo).

La Coupole was the second bunker, and no rockets were ever launched from it either. It too was abandoned after a bomb caused the adjoining quarry to collapse. According to a British soldier, you could fit two entire double-decker buses in the hole left behind from a six-tonne tallboy bomb. The plans show that it was going to be an underground maze with train tracks to deliver rockets for storage, preparation, and finally to take them to one of two planned launch sites outside the bunker. The dome at the top of the bunker is now a museum that houses war memorabilia, various bombs and rockets, and two small cinemas with films. The visit took a good three hours and I thoroughly recommend it.

On my way back to La Clusaz, my travel partner and I decided to stop in at Reims. This, of course, is pronounced as “Rahz” in French. Someone once explained how this is logical, but I’ve forgotten. Apparently in French, it is actually logical. It has something to do with the agreement of the “ei” with the “m”, producing the “ah” sound.

Anyway, my French travel friend, on crutches, needed a hotel room without stairs. We had lots of stuff with us including a paraglider, which we didn’t want to leave in the car, so we went to the tourist office to ask for a hotel that had close parking and no staircases, and not necessarily in the centre of town.

Now, fair enough if the tourist office lady had misunderstood just one of our needs, but she failed on every single one of them! The hotel was situated on a pedestrianised street in the centre of town, with a long, narrow staircase just to get to the reception, and no on-street parking in the closest road to the pedestrianised zone.

How did this happen? The woman we spoke to was very generous, giving us lots of tourist books and maps along with calling the hotel to reserve our place. She acknowledged the crutches and even joked about how someone one crutches could use a paraglider. We didn’t mention the wakeboard in the car (the reason for the crutches).

Luckily, the man at the hotel was very nice, giving us a more expensive room at no extra cost on the same floor as reception so that we didn’t have to climb another two staircases to get to the room reserved for us. Better still, we didn’t have to walk far for dinner: the pedestrianised street was full of restaurants from all around the world. We made good use of it after lugging heavy bags up that narrow, steep staircase!

If you’ve ever learnt any French language, chances are you know the most words are pronounced differently to how they’re spelt; for starters, the last letter is normally left off. For instance, “un chocolat chaud” is actually pronounced, starting with a nasalised “a” sound: “a shoh-koe-lah shaw”.

Following this rule, La Clusaz is actually pronounced “la cloo-zah”. No problems there. So it was with great surprise the other day, when I ventured to a neighbouring ski resort called La Giettaz (”la jee-etah”, right?) is actually pronounced “la jee-et”. What happened to the “ah”? How can two village names, just fifteen minutes apart from each other by road, and spelt with so many similarities, be said differently by the locals? It’s an exception I guess.

Okay, so there are always exceptions to the rule: a word has an alternative pronunciation. I can handle that. Parisians and others no doubt include the “ah” at the end of La Giettaz. So when I heard my friend talk about a chairlift called Torraz — in the epicentre of a ski resort called La Giettaz — I was surprised when he pronounced it “toh-raz”, complete with the “z”. So, what we’re looking at here is a chairlift called Torraz (”toh-raz” in a resort called La Giettaz (”la jee-et”) just around the corner from La Clusaz (”la cloo-zah”).

Yes, that’s three different endings for three different words with the exact same written endings. No wonder Spanish is all the rage these days.

I’ve been meaning to write about a few final places from my summer road trip which simply can’t be missed, or that at least deserve some comment.

First of all, Lascaux II. If you’ve ever seen a prehistoric cave painting, chances are it’s from Lascaux. The cave was discovered when four boys and a dog found a hole in 1940 that led to a large underground cave, covered in artwork. The original cave is now closed to visitors because human traits such as breathing and body temperature were damaging the paintings, but a replica has been made using the same techniques as the original. I wonder if it too will suffer the same fate in years to come. Of course, photos, even without a flash, are not allowed, and since this was the start of our trip, we obeyed.

However, we then moved onto the Gouffre de Proumeyssac, where photos were also forbidden (just like in the Gouffre de Padirac). The slide show below has some photos from inside. Yes, by this point, the ‘no photos’ thing was boring, and we clicked away without a flash. This gouffre, or cave, features lots of squid-like staligtites and a very rare triangular rock formation which only occurs in the stillest of waters and with the right chemical conditions. Photos of that are also below.

Since we had already visited La Roque St Christophe and a few smaller rock-shelter villages, we only stopped at Les Eyzies de Tayac to take some photos of the giant man overlooking the town. He’s pictured in the photos below too. The museum does look good there, but we had no time to stop. We had a quick home-made icecream and drove away.

After a long, hot day, we picked a fantastic town to stay in overnight: Sarlat-la-Canéda. The town was full of activity well into the night, with street performers, an open-air theatre, all sorts of restaurants and really narrow, pretty alleyways in the largely pedestrianised town. Famous people have been born in asymmetric houses there, and the medieval feel of the place really adds to the relaxed atmosphere there.

Last, and for me, least, is Collonges la Rouge. This is a tourist town purely because all the buildings are made of red stones. For me, it wasn’t anything special, but my travelling companion loved it, so some photos appear below from that too. Don’t get me wrong, it was very pretty, but the whole ideology of a town being a tourist attraction because they happened to have a lot of red rock to use up makes me feel as if the inhabitants have really just cashed in on the population of non-colour-blind people. Minus points also for a less than tasty sandwich-based lunch with not much choice left at 2pm.