Saturday, September 11, 2010 

Day 9 - Burgos and Las Huelgas (medieval history galore)

Plaza Mayor, Burgos, in case I had not shown this earlier.

The following day brought more sun and warmth. We visited the amazing cathedral - way to "rococo" for Phil, who was disgusted at the splendour and riches of the church. I enjoyed the detailed gargoyles, architectural little corners carved with figures, and the Capilla de los Condestables with their wonderful tombs.

Took photos galore but will not punish you with them - I'll just introduce you to the "condestabla" :-p and "condestabe".



Then we went to the monastery of Las Huelgas - by which stage Phil was unfortunately all "churched out". I enjoyed the guided visit of the "house for the daughters of kings", most of which became abbesses with great power - administrative and judiciary, independent, only accountable to the Pope.

Since my photos are crap, and we were not allowed to take any of the nice bits, you better check out the photos on the official site here

The name of "Las Huelgas" comes from the leisurely pastures that were located in the area, to feed the king's cattle; as it was "royal stock", the animals were not to do any labour, so they spent their days doing nothing ("huelgando").


Apart from the issue with the abbess, the animals, and the enclosed nuns that still live there, there's the absolute wonder of the mozarab (almohade? something...) influence that colours the place. The king, admirer of such architecture, employed Arabic motifs all over and thus one can find Arabic arches as entrance to catholic churches and chapels, ceilings decorated with multicoloured peacocks, geometric shapes, Arabic script in the cloister, and a most wonderful "techo artesonado", as in any mosque, overlooking the kings oratory or little chapel where he was knighted.

Now... on to the most surreal story of medieval cunning... 

The "knighting" business seems taken out from Blackadder; this chap became king ad the tender age of eleven following the death of his father. Thus, with the old king dead, when the time came to knight the child so that he was ready for battle, they couldn't find anyone higher than him in rank (I guess that in height they could have just called the cook in the taberna next door; biggest - as in height and shape - cook I have ever seen!). So, they decided to get God to knight him. But, since God must have been unavailable to attend the celebration at the time due to sundry commitments, some intelligent courtiers - or maybe the king himself - ordered an effigy of St. James holding a sword on his right hand and with his left hand open. Nothing special, huh? Well, the arms were mobile - like Mari Carmen y sus muñecos (which you'll only know if you were a child in Spain in the eighties) - so that Santiago himself could place on and hit with the sword the king's shoulder twice with his right hand and give him the "espaldarazo" - pat in the back - with the left hand personally... ingenious/ingenuous or what?

Finally, the visit to the museum of dress and fabric located in the monastery gave us a great glimpse of some superbly maintained pieces - taking on account that these dresses survived the decomposition of the corpses they were on, of course - and showed us that knights wore skirts (big girls they were with their saintly puppets and all...).

I leave you with a photo of the aforementioned taberna opposite las Huelgas... where we ate yummilicious "huevos estrellados".

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11:37 am | |

Sunday, August 29, 2010 

Day 8 - Wonderful Burgos

Fell asleep; too comfy, room too nice and too quiet, so now I'll fill in the bits of the rest of the day. 

The Médulas were defo a landscape hit and they also allowed us to get lost through some fun little twisty roads. One of the surprising qualities of the landscape was that there was a lot of greenery and wet muddy grounds all over the place thanks to the blessed shadow of the contorted chestnut trees that populated the area. It seems that in the autumn they close the park for two weeks or so so that the locals can gather the "castañas" for the products they prepare: from "cocido con castañas" to all kinds of sweets. 

Anyway, once we were out of the place and rolling on the motorway, the landscape started morphing slowly into wonderful planes of ochre and yellow patches littered with fractal brick villages (of the one-bell-tower or two-bell-towers kind depending on the wealth of the medieval Lord - which would include the presence of a Castilian castle - or the wealth of their trade - cereal, wine...). Another wonderful feature was the wind turbines, great wind farms scattered along the sometimes monotonous landscape, adorning the far horizons of pure blue and  foggy grey. Even the road saw a wealth of lorries carrying the humungous blades for the turbiens and other bits and pieces to build yet more of the modern windmills. No wonder Don Quixote thought these lands were populated by giants.

This would have blown D. Quixote's mind (just a little bit more)

A river, at last, green and fresh

So, we got to Burgos, big town, small river with wide green banks, bridges, broad shaded and elegant promenades, old style bookshops, antiquarian cafés, multicolored squares and a white and beautifully imposing cathedral to which al roads lead. Its musical portico is one to behold, as are many of the other details carved on its different sides. 

To the Cathedral
Wowness in white

























We walked around and upwards (again!) to the castle, to see the sunset and enjoy a bit of music. The touristy "chu-chu" train followed us so it could have been an idea to hop on, but Phil mentioned the words "rather dead than seen in...", so sod his foot sores, little pilgrim, you'll be flip-flopping through the town on your own two pretty legs (the photo of the beblistered chap complaining on the portico sums up the idea quite well). 

Going up to the castle
... he acquired some blisters ...
... but got to admire the sunset.

Our hotel, La Puebla, located in the street of the same name, was a little jewel. For 74€ we had a stylish place in the centre of the town; well equipped, huge bed where you can easily lose your partner, very quite despite the works outside, lovely decor and toilet (individual light on top of the shower to give your mornings that lovely feeling). Breakfast wasn't anything special but staff were very helpful and despite not having a record of our reservation - I'm sure I called! - they were able to find us a place. Parking was full at hotel so we left the car two minutes away in the Plaza Mayor parking (at 14€ per night, it was fair enough). 




Another highlight of the visit was the food. Despite the slow and moody service (maybe we weren't posh enough?), the food served at the "urban taberna" La Favorita was wonderful: tempura of artichokes, most lovely veggies, skewered fillet steak for Phil and "callos" with fried egg for me (yummy!). Somehow we managed to get lost on the way back and to get soaked in the hot and sudden storm that fell all through the night. 
... and with some yummy food, until the next stage, our bellies and souls are filled to the brim.

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2:27 pm | |

Sunday, August 08, 2010 

Day 7 - August, almost a year ago at Las Médulas

Right: we have spent the weekend with the family and Phil has survived - he has even been showing off his Spanish skills, "bonding" with my dad and my mum. The "bonding with my dad" bit was enforced by the fact that the sofa Phil was sitting on broke under him (who ate all the pies? or should I say... who ate all the "empanadillas"?). The rest of the bonding was due to the swimming pool where the three of them splashed, floated and swam (maybe it is Free Willy rather than Moby Dick...hum, sounds so wrong).


My dad's b'day went well - everyone ate lots of ridiculously overpriced fish - and Phil and I got by on a tiny ration of "raxo". Then, the next day, lunch with my grandad in Phils favourite "hood"; Barrio de las Flores. Such was his involvement in the events, that he got to finish his thumping big book in the 2 days.

So, loads of extended coffee and "sobremesa" with the family, beer with friends and steak for dinner at home with mum and dad (they had bought enough steak to feed a small army). And then, on the road again to Las Médulas, the range of Roman gold mines set in the frontier between Galicia and Castilla León.

The motorway to the place was empty, so it took us around two hours and a half to get there. Then, after some discrepancies with the sat nav, we got to the parking and there, wisely covered ourselves in suncream and donned our hats, as it was as hot as hell: 1 pm at Las Médulas in August was like the wild wild west, above all with the amazing red crags, mountains,c aves and random formations which crop up in every corner, as in the Valley of the Gods in Denver - with a Latin flavour.

We ate my granny's empanadillas under a chestnut tree - thank god for those! The difference in temperature between shadow and sun was certainly noticeable. We did walk around 2 km., taking the short route to two of the main caves; La Cuevona and La Encantada, and that was long enough to make me believe I had acquired a new ailment: sudden death caused by walking exertion. I sooo need to get fit...

After a fresh Coke in a rather shady touristy bar, we drove to the Mirador de Orellán. Making sure up there that we left the car parked with lots of handbrake, we walked the longest 0.6 km to the top...
(are we there yet?)

Thankfully, there was an absolutely worth and amazing view from the end of the road over the whole conglomerate of the Médulas. An amazing eerie landscape of red and green, the leftovers, shreds and bits left of a majestic mountain eroded and exploded by hand, with water, by the Romans. Next time we visit the Médulas, perhaps just going to the Mirador can do the trick - you can even visit one of the galleries inside the mountain there, but itwas closed for lunch. Nevertheless, avoid visiting the place from 13:00 to 15:00; no wonder it is a desert! (green, but desert nevertheless).



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5:24 pm | |

Tuesday, June 29, 2010 

Day 4 - Further along the North of Spain (careful, kittens enclosed)

We got up, had brekkie at the hotel - lovely coffee at last, after the thoroughly burnt stuff served in France. Then we walked into town, found the Musikene, where my sister studies in a really well located park with views over the bay (beautiful building too... described as an English style cottage but Phil could not see any Englishness in it).

Trying to find the Musikene on the map (behind me, duh!)

We knew there was the possibility to hire segways so we tracked down the shop: this took us to the market, to paseo de Salamanca and toashop with designer stuff - very nice kitchenware we thought...nope, it was not kitchenware, it was dildos of all shapes. Found the segway shop but 25€ for one hour was too much so we settled for yet another coffee overlooking the Kursaal, in the café at the theatre, next to the hotel we didn't go to, the Maria Cristina (thanks for the offer, dad,but 350€ per night is too much for what the room seemed to be). Finally, we visited the centre and walked back to the car park stopping in a mock English pub which happened to have better pintxos than the other places!

Lovely old fashioned shop, found on the way

The drive to Asturias was great. We stopped at Getaria and it certainly did not disappoint us. Home to Elcano, first to circumnavigate the globe, it was a sunny fishing port with twisty scenic roads and the softest and hottest of sands at it s feet. We didn't have the time to have a swim as in La Rochelle, but we took our shoes off and after skipping like fleas to the sea - yeah, the sand was very very hot, don't you believe me? - we walked through the waterline feeling awfully overdressed and getting some looks from the people on the beach. Was it our tan? Was it our "I'm so much of a tourist" casual style? Was it the fear of us taking photos of their boobs? Some of the people were possibly on the road to having rather wrinkly and raisin-like appendages or all sorts of skin cancer with such exposure to the sun at three in the afternoon. And no, we were not interested in photographing them, only the beauty of the day.

On the coastal road

Getaria

So, after the boobs and monuments of all shapes, we kept on driving, this time on the toll road which snaked through high mountains and wonderful seascapes. Phil thoroughly enjoyed playing with the car on the winding road and I didn't enjoy it that much (scenery was great but corners were too tight).

And, after the roads and roads, we find ourselves in the wonderful "Casona D'Alevia" (clicky for great photos of the house) hidden in a hamlet on the top of a mountain. At the moment we don't how high -or not -this and the mountains surrounding us are, as the clouds are covering them, but we took some scenic photos - of the mountains and the lovely locals (3 cats with flat faces that seemed interested in our movements).

We are somewhere up there

... I mean, up here (spot the tourist)...

... and in here (little window to the garden at the Casona)

The hotel and bedroom are so nice, decorated in ye olde style from the village, that we have decided to stay here, get a platter of cold meat and a bottle of wine and eat it in the small living room within our room. I may also mention that, at this stage, some parts of our body are showing sure signs of a tan. Phil is also developing a lovely colour in his driving arms. Bellies remain as white and big as usual. Unfortunately, these do not seem to have disappeared magically after three days of holidays.

I leave you with a photo of the "locals"... who looked positively evil...


...and who were coming to get us...


... but then completely lost interest...




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7:45 am | |

Thursday, April 22, 2010 

Day 3 - On the road to Donostia

Mission accomplished; day 2 is over. Woke up at seven, had a bath in our colonial bathtub, overlooked by photos of uptight XIXth century families including scary fat baby with white hat and dress. We went up to the Café la Paix and the 6€ brekkie surrounded by a bunch of old locals who were reading their newspapers, discussing about politics, sipping their cafés and generally pursing their lips á la francaise.

(this was the side overlooking the street, the locals were shunning the sun, well at the back)

A wonderful lamp most suitable for early morning illumination

voici our 6€ breakfast; bigger than the table we were sitting at

Once fed, we plodded over the ramparts and voilá the beach des .......... (not too sure), all for ourselves - well, and for the rest of people there, but we were just a few, less than 20 total as it was quite early still; total heaven

I ventured in the water and managed to convince Phil to follow. It is not that he dislikes water; he was jealously watching me paddle and float (at the height of my technique in swimming - almost like my mum's) but he had forgotten his swimming costume. Not sure whether he got the "we are going to the beach" bit this morning. So, we proceeded to get his trousers off, underwear off, modesty covered by towel, like in that epic chapter from Mr Bean, then put his shorts again (trousers) and voilá, swimming costume ready. He did swim to the buoy and I guess his pockets did get quite full of water, but it was well worth it.

Ou yea, this is the view I couldn't see while swimming because I'm blind as a bat.

So, back to the hotel, quickly washed the sand off, tidied the sea shells gathered for friends, packed and, well, off we went, with a baguette and saucisson in the boot for the next "aire" and currently roasting in the car (not sure if the factor 50 cream is going to work... such hardship)


Bye bye Maison du Palmier, bye bye La Rochelle, and hello road!




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8:57 pm | |

Thursday, April 08, 2010 

Day 2 (part 3) - really, still La Rochelle

Not everything is about food in that town. Let's step back a little bit; we leave the tracteurs, special transports with thumping big pieces of stuff , the thumping big lorries and other sundry slow cars on D roads that should have been N roads, and recall our entrance in the town... Tourists crossing the road - death wish - bicycles crossing - death wish II - and Brit tourists on the wrong lane (Phil still says he was "only" avoiding the bus lane, which is a crap cover-up story).

So, our first impression of the town, despite the traffic chaos was pretty good; summer feeling, white paved streets with white classical buildings, beautiful port and a great Bed and Breakfast... "La Maison du Palmier" (linky). Great location, great taste; we are in the Chambre du Voyageur, 95€ a pop, rez de chaussée, windows facing the lovely courtyard garden and the street... but oh so quiet). Lovely compendium of XIXth century traveller paraphernalia in the most lovely room (lovely x 3, yes, I did notice the repetition). By the way, the hat is ours.

Le hat on ze bed

Le 'appy voyageur

Le courtyard

So, even though the piccies are self-explanatory, let me tell you about the room. If I turn my head to the left from the bed, there's the bathtub, visible through a window on the wooden partition that separates bedroom space from hand basin and bagnoire - loo is on separate closet, thankfully. This reminds me of the wondrous and very comfy tents that colonial travellers used to set up on their posh safaris - bit round or square yugurta with draperies over wooden four poster and proper English bathtub carried to camp on the back of long suffering elephants, or camels, or slaves... Open the curtains, and voila le courtyard, all silent, but full of light. Niiiice...

We are located next to the port, parallel to a pedestrianized street full of lovely looking restaurants. As you know if you read the previous installment, we ended up having dinner somewhere else, in the Rue des Bonnes Femmes, who were bien sur neither dames nor nuns - confirmed by the sex shop in the same address.


So, historic / holiday city checklist; port (tick), good food (tick), wonderful white houses (tick), old town with old houses (tick), cathedral (tick), and of course great bemirrored café, at Place Verdun, host to many writers' débats (as a French café should be, Simenon et alia discussing stuff over a croissant) with a cinema at the back. Reminds me of that café in Lisbon where I am sure Pereira used to have his lemonades ("Sostiene Pereira" always a wonderful book). And this, ladies and gents, is the coffee place where we will be having brekkie tomorrow, for 6.80€, so check this space.

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8:21 pm | |

Saturday, February 20, 2010 

Day 2 (part 3) La Rochelle at last! (one for the foodies)

Yes, you may be wondering... what a long day.

Having lost the argument of to toll or not to toll, we took the N road that then was declassified to D road, D-137; either our road map was wrong or the road had been very very naughty. This gave Phil the opportunity to drive properly i.e. to overtake tracteurs, cows, Brits on holidays and those ever so prevalent F numberplate Finns that you can find all over the place.

The fun stopped when we got stuck in traffic "exceptionnel" at Les Marais for a long, long, long, long time... now this was one long, long, long vehicle that Phil could not overtake - now we know how wind turbine blades are transported. Nevertheless, the sun had actually come out and we had the chance to enjoy the open top again, blast the music and monkey around singing out of tune and dancing like middle aged parents
.

Anyhow, we DID get to LA ROCHELLE and, man, did it feel like we were on holiday? Ohh yes! Proper mediterranean hectic "ruelles" full of tourists, cyclists, dogs, random cars, big "Yello" buses, ourselves driving on the wrong lane...


Zis is a photo from the car (thus lack of lustre)

Zis is ze port, check out the summer feeling!

Once all that jazz was overcome, we got to find the hotel. Again, thank the gods for the sat-nav, as it would have been impossible to find it so straightforwardly without it. In fact, it happened to be that corner house with a wall and a palm tree that we had driven past at least a couple of times. To my surprise, this hotel, well, B&B, is located two streets away from the port and it is a most wonderful jewel. But I will talk about the B&B later on... because not only did we find a fab place to stay, we also did find a fab place to have dinner in!

The place is "Restaurant Ô5" http://www.o5restaurant.fr/ located in the merrily named...


So, Phil had:
- Aumoniére (purse) de Mignon de Porc, Vinaigre de tomate et Sirop d'Erable
- Boeuf poelé, reduction de bearnaise au basicil et tombee de Girolles.

I had:
- Gaspacho de pasteque , faln de Parmesan et Pistil de Safran (I had to ask the waiter what pasteque was, in perfect french, so I though I was a bit special needs, looked at me with a blank french face and then, with very subdued arm movement and pursed mouth tried to mimic the shape of a watermelon - could have been football gazpacho if you ask me! I only found out what it was when the soup arrived)
- Pavé de veau, mille feuilles de champignons et coulis de tomate a l'huile d'olive.
(and yes, we thought they would charge us per word used)


Et voilá, ze funky whatsit "gaspacho"

Phil's verdict: starter better than mine, pork sweet, balsamicky, oniony, pastry just on the spot - very thin but not dry.
My verdict: Phil thinks the starter's cheese flan was superbly light; I think it killed very "almost not there" watermelon gazpacho - which was a surprise of a fruity soup.

Mains: meat-wise, Phil preferred the veal, but his mushrooms were just very surprising, lovely texture and flavour... they came in a stack with a roof of paillette potatoes. The dish came with carrots; very peppery and with some green thing that we are not sure how to describe... it was... green... very green... alien green... even shaped like an UFO, in green... madeleine au "basil".

My main; veal very nicely cooked, the mushroom paste in the millefeuille was very creamy - took me a while to realise what it was. Crown-shaped roast potatoes and a nest of threaded raw beetroot (well, purple thing that tasted of raw vegetable).

No puds but nice wine from the region "Thierry Jullion 2007", Charentain.

The restaurant itself had a lovely minimalistic industrial design, with a garage-like indoors, lots of empty space, open airy well fitted kitchen and secret garden at the back. Very handsome toilet in white and purple, stylish and unisex.

Night menu comes up to 28€ x 3 dishes,, which is good value for the different, innovative & young product it offers. Fun menu display despite the typos in Spanish grammar and hey, including some sections in Latin. Funky artwork on the walls.

As a complimentary mouth opener, we got some goat's cheese mousse with almond and honey in a shot glass. I tried it and liked it; could be described as a "whiff" of a goat which disappeared in seconds - which sounds awful - and then came back for the wine - naughty goat.

And to finish the restaurant plug, here's photo of the entrance in case you are in La Rochelle and want to find it. Just a piece of advice, dress slightly better than us, as we did stand out like sore thumbs in that place with our scruffy tourist gear.



... So... 85€ lighter (plus the overly generous tip we left) and also under the influence of spirits (of the alcoholic kind, don't go about thinking a XVIth century freemason has taken over my body and is scribbling in undecypherable cryptic freemason hand - actually, maybe he has! I don't make any sense!), I will duly continue my report on the rather middle aged and middle class adventures of us two in "ze" continent on the next post, as digestion time beckons.

Bonne nuit, mes cheris, and remember that blog time is flexible and never real, so we may remain on day 2 for a couple of weeks more!



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3:37 pm | |

Saturday, October 31, 2009 

Been there Done That - Day 1

DAY 1

Our plants will be dead when we return, but this holiday is well worth the life of the couple of semi-defunct cacti that are decorating our mantelpiece.

We woke up at 5 (figure that, I didn't even have to be kicked out of the bed for this), got on the road at 6 with the sun, and eventually arrived to Dover well before our ferry was due.

On the road from home to the port, the fog was so thick, it could have been sliced with a knife and spread on toast. After half an hour of cautious driving in the foggiest of fogs, somewhere in Surrey the "intelligent" panels on the road kindly reminded us motorists that there was some sort of fog hazard around (thanks for the tip, guys). In the deep haze, the sun looked spooky and unreal, like a round cheese floating in the sky, slowly changing colour to a potent yellow disk. No wonder the Mayans had the jitters every time the heavenly bodies behaved funny, on a day like this they would have been rushing to their pyramids to start a sacrifice binge.

Still, Dover did receive us with less and less of that fog, and we were able to check out the famous white cliffs (I had been banging about this for a long time now and can tick the box of being there and doing that at last). Unfortunately, only the white cliffs were worth it; Dover, at least the way to the port, was ehm....

... nice or what?

Of course we were not sorry to leave the country after this view. Do they do it on purpose to discourage immigration? We hoped things looked brighter, warmer, nicer on the other side. And well, they did start looking much better from the boat... white cliffs bye byeeee!


We reached Calais in 2 hours; long flat beaches, blue sea, concrete blocks & towers... just like a Spanish seaside resort in grey. In fact, right after the big sign indicating CALAIS (in case you had gotten on the wrong boat), we were welcome by the wonderful view of "BooZers, Spirit of Calais" a shopping centre designed for the classy tourist.


Yes, it didn't look any prettier on the other side. Thankfully, the road took us away from the concrete-hole of Calais avoiding as much of it as possible. And now it did start feeling like a holiday - roof down, warm weather, tidy fields of grain with big rolled-up, lined-up, stacks of hay, and long, straight, empty motorways. Finding our way was so smooth that we wondered how travel was possible before the advent of the Tom-Tom. Kinder Bueno & Lion Bar for lunch (melted before reaching the mouth).

After the absolute rip-off péage (for the long empty motorways aforementioned), we hit Le Havre. Not as horrendous as Calais, jewel of the crown, only because it seems like a functional industrial port - thus with industrial stuff, not masqueraded with a sheen of cheapo tourist make-up. Also, extra points to it for not having a BooZer supermarket for its most wonderful bridge (rip-off part 2 but wonderful structure!)



(20 degrees; 13:45, 5€ to cross)


Stopped for petrol just before the entrance of Le Havre 52€ for a life-saving tankfull of the black stuff - we had just depleted the last drop in the tank! Phil changed to flip-flops and decided to drive bare-footed, what a hippie. Also noted the unmanliness of wearing sea-sickness bracelets, but better safe than sorry!

Further péage and all the cows seem to be sleeping siestas under trees, thirsty for the shadow, what a life.


We arrived pretty fast to Mt. St. Michel; not worth stopping anywhere around a motorway anyway. In fact, we arrived early than predicted so the 1 hour queueing to get from one side of the parking to the other side and our specific spot didn't bother us that much. Of course finding our spot took us a couple of "bon, bof, behs" with pouted mouth from the parking attendants who were more concerned about their cigarettes than sorting the stagnant traffic situation.



We enjoyed the majestic presence of the Mont over our heads and the priceless people spotting (all the annoying ones were Mediterraneans, doh!). Then, it took us almost another hour to find the hotel - well, me running up and down the alleys and stairs in the Mont, which are many and of different shapes and widths, fighting against the hordes of baby prams, slow tourists, old tourists, tourists taking photos and tourists choosing cards or calling Manolo!!! while blocking the road, and Phil sitting with the luggage in a corner.

Granted, I should have known where I was going, planned as I had all the trip, but so it happens that to get the key to our room we had to go to a hotel which was not our hotel (get it?) and then they would give us they key and show us the way... which was through a shop, through the shop's back door, trawling through dresses and corridors full of boxes, and up a spiral and dark staircase.

So, seeing the "magnificent" entrance, I was already expecting the worse. And, voilá, our room, in a sort of turret whose entry is actually at the very top of the Mont (well, almost under the abbey), you just have to get lost a bit to find it, then go down some quirky stairs and alleys, and before you get to the cemetery, a little door: Logis St. Sebastian; go downstairs to the bottom through that spiral staircase (yes, the one that ended in the backroom of a shop), and there we were! On a room facing the main street (I feel like opening the window and emptying the contents of the bedpan on the tourists), so narrow one can almost see inside the rooms of the building opposite, the Hotel le Mouton Blanc (in fact, the main hotel, where you get the key for the Logis - are you lost yet?).

Hurray! found the door!

And this is the street leading from our place to the main street...

So, Le Mouton Blanc, we didn't try their food but had a lovely lunch on a terrace on the remparts, well, dinner, for 18€ each, not bad! And the room was 55€ which is pretty good for a night at the heart of the Mont (hey, tick the box, been there done that).



Unfortunately, we are too tired to see the Mont lit up (well, it was past nine and it wasn't getting dark, so we just gave up). We feel like an elderly couple, flossing our teeth together in a room with separate beds, at 9.30 in the evening and all ready to go to bed and... sleep. Sod the lights on the Mont, we are not made for such adventures, and the stairs are a killer. Still, we love this place, room big, clean, well located, big bathroom with the basics (in wonderful seventies blue), high beamed ceilings, fireplace (not working, of course), crap telly in a corner and bargain price. Plus, add the charm of being hidden away in a secluded tower and the fact that you can spit at tourists from your window and they will never be able to find you. Bargain!

So, night night, leave you with a lovely view...


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7:25 pm | |

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