Ski-lifts and stock-tiffs

Well, what a lovely few days (with the odd exception, but more of that later) we have been having in Serre Chevalier since we arrived last Friday. We won't bore you with a blow-by-blow account but here are some of the interesting things that have happened (obviously, we're like, in the middle of the mountains, so we're not talking about a book launch, or a preview table at the latest pop up, or a cheese and wine party. God we miss London. Anyway where were we?)

The woman manning the tourist office amused us a lot. In answer to every question she gave one of *those* French shrugs and suggested Katie call them herself. Maybe it's because Katie's French is so bloody brilliant the woman thought we just didn't need any help. Then Katie walked outside to ask Ed something and when she returned one minute later the grille had been slammed shut for the interminable lunch break.

We've been on a number of ski lifts before they shut down for the season. This has mostly involved staring at much more adventurous people (mountain bikers, white water rafters, quad bikers etc), drinking coffee out of the thermos and then going back down again. The chair lift in Villeneuve was most exciting, as Charlie, being quite small, could easily have slipped 30 feet to the ground if we hadn't been hanging onto him. 

Just one small push...

 There's just no way that would get past health and safety in the UK.

Safely back at the bottom of the mountain we found an icy cold lake but managed to pluck up the courage to take a dip thanks to the sweltering 30 degree heat. Charlie was less keen and opted instead for chilling on a rock at the water's edge.

Too cool for pool

That night we had a lovely selection of salads

Flagelot and bacon, green beans in salt and beurre, olives with anchovies, potato with Roquefort, tomato and warmed goat cheese with balsamic glaze

and then somewhat ill-advisedly sank three bottles of rosé. Sunday was a write off. However, we did manage to drag our sorry arses to Briançon and found an attractive old town and fort, then grabbed the cable car up the mountain as that was about as much effort as we felt able to expend. 

yeah, whatever, it's not as exciting as the Piccadilly Line

A reviving cuppatea at 2500 feet

Woke up feeling much fresher on Monday and went out for an aimless drive that resulted in the discovery of a beautiful meadow covered in flowers and haybales. Charlie invented a new sport 'hay-baling' whereby he leaps from one haybale to another aided by a long suffering parent

"again, again" it's probably a better fitness routine than gym membership

and then we picnicked beside one of them 

Thermos propped up against the bale, our new best friend

and watched my shoes become colonised by crickets (which are present in biblical proportions, we really should find some recipe that makes use of them but that might be more suited to the Laos leg of our trip). We've somewhat fallen into the trap of eating baguettes for our picnics, so we tried to be a little more inventive with this one: tomato and goat's cheese salad with olives, tins of mackerel - one à la moutarde, the other à la sauce tomate, mini saucisson sec (which are SO nice), artichoke hearts and more tea. We didn't get round to eating our tin of peaches, and anyway it was all getting a bit too Enid Blyton. 

Then Ed dug out a kite from the car 

"this bores me"

and we spent an exhilarating hour flying them in the brisk wind, followed by a walk along a fast flowing river and a quick paddle - which resulted in numb feet after a few seconds as the water must be coming off the glacier. Rounded off by a traditional roast chicken dinner.

A whole chicken, you see, can supply the essence of 3 to 4 decent meals and when on a pretty tight daily budget such a thing is a godsend. However unbeknownst to us it was also the source of the biggest row since one-way-street-gate. Ed spent several hours stripping the carcas, boiled up a rich, deep stock and left it overnight to develop. The following morning after draining it into an appropriate receptacle in the sink (in case of over-spill) he went to dispose of the carcass and noticed the bin bag was leaking, and so took it to the outdoor bin. He returned upstairs to find that although Katie had helpfully mopped up the offending slick, unfortunately she had failed to notice the aforementioned rich brown stock in the dish in the sink, and mistaking it for dishwater she wrung out the bin-juice soaked rag into it just as Ed returned from outside.

Well there followed a rather eccentric performance (a classic mantrum) featuring jumping up and down on the spot, swearing, and tears as Ed practically pulled his own hair out. Now there really is nothing more pathetic than crying over spilt stock, we get that, but it was one of those mornings when everything just seemed stacked against poor old Ed and that stock had taken a long time to prepare and was going to be bloody tasty. To calm himself down Ed stomped off alone on a five hour trek up the side of a mountain, as he stopped for the occasional cup of coffee from the thermos sitting in one shady rock lined clearing after another his mood began to lift. Although it's probably one of those things he'll feel bitter about until his dying day. 

3 hours uphill walking, still grumpy

Vineyards and mudguards

We drove from Épernay - "you've crossed the road; Champagne!" to Bourgogne (also known as BUR-GUN-DY), home to arguably the best wine around (strongly disputed by the vintners of Bordeaux, one suspects). We arrived at the unprepossessing little village of Flagey-Echézeaux in search of our B&B, apparently entirely populated by ugly modern bungalows. However, this was perfect as it set our expectations low so that as soon as we stepped through the walled gates of the old stone masse we were staying at, we were entranced by this vision of ivy bound architectural beauty:

Not a bungalow

We settled into a room next to an artist's studio overlooking a lily pond, and got a recommendation for a local cave where we could purchase, and more importantly taste, some of the esteemed, aforementioned Burgundy wine. We knew we couldn't possibly have hoofed two bikes on the back of our car for nothing and so we cycled off in the evening sunshine to find said wine, only to find that in fact, a bike isn't the best vehicle for transporting large quantities of booze, so we had to return the next morning to pick up our haul in the car, which we did. 

Blog background image selected

We drove through some of the most famous vineyards in France and stopped at Domaine d'Ardhuy, a stunning vineyard just past Nuits-Saint-Georges. Despite not having an appointment (notice a theme here?) they kindly let us taste some wines and we invested in a bottle of Clos de Langres, a lively red monopole from the very vineyard that surrounded us as we stood. It will be at its best in 2020, but a miracle if it lasts that long in our hands (or for that matter, we're still alive to drink it).

Domaine L'Ardhuy

Vines

Charlie in good spirits after dipping his fingers in our wine glasses while we weren't looking

We stopped off for a pleasant hour in Beaune before the big drive south, but managed an epic fail as a driving/navigating team as we headed out of town when Katie directed Ed into three lanes of oncoming traffic. Under considerable pressure from 17 furious Frenchmen slamming on their horns, Ed's panicked three point turn resulted in the removal of a mud guard and a not-inconsiderable amount of the 'simmering marital resentment' of which we spoke in an earlier post. This set the tone for a sweltering six hour drive deep into the Alps, via the Frejus Tunnel, where we were charged an almost amusingly extortionate 43.70 euros for a ten minute drive through a mountain. For those who know us well, you can well imagine the words that were exchanged with the toll booth attendant.

Hôtel-Dieu de Beaune

However, we're now installed in Kate and Andrew's wonderful house in Serre Chevalier, which by the way looks bloody different in the summertime. We've got about two days before the whole place shuts down at the end of August (even the boulangerie) when we will presumably resort to killing mountain goats for survival. We actually managed to eat a non-bread product for dinner tonight - bean salad with boiled eggs - although we did have to put a bit of bacon in there as we can't go a day without eating a pig. Yum. 

Charlie refused to eat this and had melon for dinner instead

...and we're off

Where we've been: 5am start on Monday morning, drove from (burn after) Reading to the white cliffs of Dover in a slight travel panic as always befits the start of any Cross family excursion. Calais to Dunkirk mercifully brief aided by a bounty, sub par pain-au-chocolat and sausage roll which while marked up 200% still managed to be reasonably tasty- amazing what a bit of salted fat and gristle ground up and rolled in pastry can achieve.

Drove from Dunkirk to Thiepval memorial, the largest of the Great War memorials (Great is fine when referring to the scale of the conflict, otherwise it seems awfully self congratulatory by the winning generals "hey, great war guys, give yourselves a pat on the back and lets get cracking with these roaring twenties everyone seems so excited about" )

We're becoming quite accustomed to these monuments mourning mass mechanized slaughter after our Belgium walk along the front line in June. Thiepval is astonishingly beautiful, a somber series of arches set against the blue sky and rolling countryside beyond. The Kipling quote "Known unto god" (he makes exceedingly good poetry) brings a lyrical poignancy to the Memorial to The Missing who met their untimely ends at the Somme.

Memorial to the Missing

We pressed on to Suzy and an incongruous wild west themed campsite which was dappled in early evening light as we erected the tent and pumped the air mattresses. Charles was most excited to find horses, two trampolines and a refreshingly brisk indoor pool inside a traditional Saloon. We whipped up a quick dinner of pasta and pesto (one burner and one pan forces you to be inventive with the culinary creations) and after a cheeky half bottle of Muscadet, an early night was had by all.

We slept badly, too much cheese (did I mention we ate a whole Camembert as a starter?) combined with a leaky airbed, temperatures starting around 30 and plunging to 5 degrees by morning, mixed in with some vivid dreams. So we decided to sack off packing up and moving on and instead lounged around in the sun all day, occasionally taking a dip in the pool. We made an excursion to a supermarket to buy more bread, cheese and processed pig products - before being turfed out at midday so the staff could have their customary 4 hour lunch break (I admire the civilized and relaxed nature of French work-life balance but cannot comprehend how anything ever gets done here, seriously). We had an impromptu picnic next to a canal which was not as idyllic as it initially seemed, the rash purchase of a couscous salad, while delicious was impossible to eat without cutlery.

That evening's meal was more of a triumph, a veritable celebration of the humble duck beginning with fois gras on thin slices of baguette fried in duck fat to start followed by cassoulet au canard (from a tin but pimped with extra garlic fried in more duck fat and added stock) and accompanied by a tomato and avocado salad to ward off the gout.

Fois Gras

Grumpy Charlie demanding we scrape the fois off his bread

Not duck

Casoulet- it ain't a beauty but it tasted alright

The tent, the table and the stove

Charlie refused to eat almost all of it, we're considering disowning him although it does mean all the more for us.

That night's sleep wasn't much better than the first but the bonus of being in bed from 9pm-8am is that even if you have several restless hours you still wake up having probably bagged a sum total of around 8 hours. We packed in a panic aware that the Nicholas Feuillatte champagnery closed at lunch and was a good hour and a half's drive away. Dripping in sweat we disassembled the tent and threw all our earthly belongings into the car and hit the road again. We drove through the most spectacular countryside and arrived at the gleaming champagne factory with about 10 minutes to spare. We were told in no uncertain terms that we would not be allowed to take a tour having not booked in advance (we subsequently booked for our return in October) but were allowed to sample a couple of their offerings - a rosé and a 2006 vintage, both lovely but we settled for the vintage without realising until afterwards that it marks our ten year anniversary and so must only be drunk if we manage not to murder one another before the 21st October.

We bribed Charlie with a chocolate milkshake but drew the line at having a full Macy-D lunch, Ed's snobbery verging on the insufferable. We instead pitched our little picnic table under a flame tree on the side of a busy highway and rapidly wolfed down a baguette, more cheese and some saucisson sec enjoying the occasional break in the 60 mile an hour convey of trucks that rattled past.

You can't see Katie dodging traffic to take this shot

introduction

WARNING: Do not read on a Monday morning.

Welcome to our blog ‘Travels With Charlie’. Prepare to be irritated by two smug thirty-somethings and our freckle-faced child as we show the finger to The Man and take some time out from our hectic London lives to re-boot, spend more time as a family and be citizens of the world.

Blurgh…

Seriously, we know this whole year-out thing is a stupid and annoying thing to do, but just remember that behind every sun-kissed photo will be the stark reality of bubonic plague-inspired mosquito bites, record breaking arachnids and simmering marital resentment.

We’ve run away from our jobs, installed some incredibly unsuspecting Dutch people in our house and we are now attempting to pass the next nine months or so without getting a divorce, ‘accidentally’ losing our child or contracting a life threatening disease, all while shovelling as much tasty grub down our throats as possible. 

Come and visit if you find yourselves in rural France, Italy or Laos anytime soon. Here goes…