Plain sailing – and plane mad!

To reward it for not dying in the mountains, we took the van for a short holiday to Lake Annecy. The city of Annecy itself is a living, breathing picture postcard of medieval quaintness. On the day we ventured into town it was market day so the streets were awash with cured meats, Savoyard cheeses and strong beers, which is my idea of heaven, and we grazed at the samples laid out by each stall, treating the place like an enormous outdoor buffet. Talking of scavengers, instead of being littered with pigeons like other European cities, Annecy is inhabited by an inordinate number of swans. It’s almost as if the council decided that pigeons weren’t twee enough for Annecy and so shipped in herds of swans instead – trained swans that mill around posing for photos and, well, swanning about I guess.

Anyway, laden with produce, we retired to the south end of the lake and made our way to the beach. Now, when I say beach what I actually mean is a swathe of foot-lacerating gravel. For while the lake is large and stunningly beautiful, it naturally lacks the rock-macerating wave power of the sea needed to create fine sand. So instead of casually trotting into the crystal-clear waters like the cast of Baywatch might do, you get people hobbling along like they’ve just been shot by a sniper and flopping into the lake like a carelessly-flung blancmange.

What didn’t help was that the flip-flops I’d purchased for the princely sum of €3 chose this moment to decide they no longer wanted to be flip-flops but instead wanted to become mere litter. This left my feet to be tortured by the aforementioned “beach of death” and my only solace was to waddle between the sunburnt cadavers of unseasoned bathers out into the soothing water. So far out that, in the end, we decided to just hire a speedboat. The “speed” part of speedboat was a bit of a misnomer as we chugged out into the lake at the pace of a cloud on a breezy day. I think at one point we were even overtaken by a couple of those pesky swans. We tried in vain to reach a castle we’d seen half way up the lake but after about half an hour, with it not seeming to get any closer and the unknown amount of fuel we had becoming a concern, we decided to abandon the expedition and, instead, just have a swim. There is something wonderfully glamorous and romantic about diving off a boat into a lake on a beautifully sunny day. There is nothing remotely glamorous or romantic about trying to clamber back onto that boat. All I can say is that it was a good job we were too far from shore to be seen, otherwise indecent exposure charges may have been filed.   

After Annecy we headed back towards Burgundy and a little village called Savigny-Les-Beaune to have another attempt at some wine tasting. Sadly, the hot sunny weather we’d enjoyed over the rest of the holiday finally gave way to rain, so when we found a large chateau that offered some wine tasting we jumped at the chance to get out of the wet. The wine tasting was excellent. What we weren’t expecting, however, was that the eccentric old owner of the chateau (we met him – mad as a bag of squirrels) would also have an enormous collection of automotive history in the grounds too…

We first entered an old stable block and were confronted by his collection of Abarth racing cars, many of which he drove in his younger years. Next, we wandered among hundreds of classic motorcycles, in various states of restoration, just stashed away in a loft. Outside was a shed containing historical tractors and another stuffed with vintage fire engines. Beyond those was a field containing about 70 old fighter jets. Actual fighter jets! There was just too much to take in. In the main castle itself there were even more motorbikes – rows and rows of Nortons, Harley Davidsons, Indians and more. The money and obsession involved in this man’s collection was mind-boggling. The mad old bugger had even parked a hovercraft on the front lawn! An ex-racing driver who lives in a chateau, makes excellent wine and collects boys’ toys… he might just be my new hero!     

The plus side of it raining was that we were limited to more indoor pursuits – ie, more wine tasting and a nice dinner in a local bistro. The down side of it raining was that we spent a sleepless night listening to what sounded like gravel being poured onto the tin roof of our van. The next day we drove our soggy selves towards Dunkirk and the ferry home, hoping to outrun the weather and glean one last bit of sunshine out of our holiday. Sadly, the rain was even harder the further north we went and our last night in the van was akin to sleeping inside a snare drum while several hyperactive toddlers banged on it with spoons. We boarded the ferry exhausted, sleep-deprived and grumpy. Still, it’s good to get away, isn’t it?