And so to France. It all started a little before Christmas with a conversation with our friend A. Recently widowed, and keen to find her feet travelling again, she said she missed the south of France, where we had spent quite a lot of time together back when I worked for various companies in Sophia-Antipolis and lived just outside Antibes. It didn’t take many glasses of wine before the thought became parent to the deed and in early April, to get in ahead of the increasingly hot summers, and the increase in tourists caused by the Easter holidays, we set about going to Provence the long, slow way.

These days we would normally do an overnight ferry crossing to get a head start on the day but because A lives close to the UK end of the Eurotunnel we decided we would do that instead. Fed up with previous experiences when the crossing we had booked on was cancelled, and we got no priority to get on an available train, I took a look at the cost of the Flexiplus tickets, and decided it was worth it simply to remove the stress of having to get to Dover or Calais at a specific time, which can also be more than a bit stressful! It’s not as if we can’t afford it, and even without the other perks, it was a no-brainer. The deal, therefore, was that we would make our way to A’s, go out for dinner local to her, stay overnight, and get the first sensible LeShuttle crossing in the morning. We could get up when we were ready and have no worries, especially as we had very little driving to do that first day. Again, I’d learned from the Scottish road trip in 2024 that too much driving just made everyone miserable. Not going to happen again. The realisation that it was around 10 hours meant we were taking two stops on the way down and a two-night stop on the way back.

First, however, we needed dinner – and so to a very pleasant, hospitable Italian restaurant in South London, the Cacio e Pepe, where cocktails and pasta set us all up for a good night’s sleep ahead of heading back to France.

We arrived at the leShuttle terminal around 9:30, stopped in at the Flexiplus lounge to use the facilities and to pick up some breakfast. When we saw the selection of sandwiches and snacks, we loaded a bag each with lunch as well for both days to spare ourselves the horror of French motorway service station sandwiches, which certainly used to be grim, wet, floppy, flavourless things that you would not feed to a dog. Even once they were a day old, these would clearly be much better. Food collected, we simply drove through the gates, and pretty much straight onto a train, which moved off around 5 minutes after we’d taken our place carriage and I’d switched off the engine. 40 minutes later we were on the autoroute and heading towards Champagne, with our first overnight stop scheduled for Epernay. We liked it so much on our previous French road trip to Bordeaux and beyond that we fancied a night in the town before going on our way.

First we had to get there, which was a process that was complicated by the fuel stop we needed. Some bright spark in France has decided its “pay at the pump” these days. This would be less of an issue if said bright spark or sparks hadn’t decided that it would be perfectly fine to line up the screens facing due south with no shade. Cue lots of baffled people unable to read anything displayed on the screen, and thus unable to get fuel. After twenty minutes stuck in a queue at one service station, I then hit the same problem. Only I didn’t just stand there – I decided I wasn’t going to get anywhere dealing with the recalcitrant machine, got back in the car, and went to the next service station along. The same issue was playing out there too so I didn’t even stop. At location number three I was able to read the screens but it insisted my card wasn’t valid. And in fact nor were anyone else’s. This was because it didn’t bother to tell us we needed to actually insert the card into the machine, not just “tap and go”. The French banking system won’t let you do that for any amount above 50 Euro but it doesn’t then tell you to insert your card, just tells you huffily that it won’t accept your card. Now I know, I won’t be caught out like that again.

Refuelled, we finished our drive for the day, arriving in Epernay to find that large parts of it were being dug up, with substantial roadworks outside our hotel. It made getting to the hotel car park slightly more complicated than might normally be the case but we managed it.

I’m now going to say that I didn’t really know what to expect. We’d booked into the local Kyriad hotel, and I’ve always regarded Kyriads as being on a par with Travelodge in the UK. I’d always prefer a Premier Inn any day. I don’t know if we got very lucky with our hotel, but the rooms, while a touch spartan, had everything we needed, the staff were lovely, and breakfast – as we found out the following morning – was really very good indeed. I would highly recommend the Kyriad Epernay, and in fact a colleague is staying there later this year. Another thing in the Kyriad’s favour is that it’s a stone’s throw from the Avenue de Champagne, and all the Champagne houses that display their wares along its pathways. We unpacked and decided it would be rude not to go out and sample some of the local product. The sun was shining, it was a glorious day, blossom out everywhere you looked, and a lot of other people seemed to have the same idea as us. A couple of places were so packed we had no chance of getting a seat, so we kept going till we spotted an empty table outside House Esterlin. A trio of Champagnes later and we decided we needed a bit of a lie down, before showering and getting ready to head out for dinner.

Dining that night, we were booked into La Cave A Champagne, so first we figured out where it was, then realized that we were too early, there was nowhere in the restaurant to have a drink, and nowhere to wait for our booked time, so we meandered back to the end of the Avenue de Champagne, where we sat outside in the warm evening air, drinking kir at Cafe Le Progres, where they appear to have too many customers and not enough staff, but were friendly enough for all that.

Finally ready for dinner, it was back to the restaurant, where we were very well looked after and very well fed. It’s a place with a very traditional French air about it, especially the menu, which was perhaps more winter-focused than the weather suggested was warranted. It mattered not. We started with some massive cheese straws before getting onto the main business. A pork terrine was terrific, meaty and solid and well-flavoured, and the foie gras terrine was just as you hope it will be when you order it. A foie gras was equally good. The mains were nicely done, well-executed and full of flavour. We demolished between us a ris de veau, a chicken supreme, and a fillet of beef. Dessert was not possible after all that food, and we staggered back to the hotel rather more slowly than we’d arrived!

We made a slightly slow start the following day knowing we only needed about four hours in the car. First I went for a run, managing a lovely 5k through Epernay, including the Avenue. It would have been a shame not to… Breakfast was very good, much better than a 3-star chain might have provided in the past, and then we were on our way to Lyon, where we would stop for another night rather than pushing all the way on to St. Remy de Provence. It was a relatively trouble free trip for the most part, until that is we hit the outskirts of Lyon, and a slow moving jam with roadworks every where. It was followed by the SatNav’s point blank refusal to be helpful, sending me round the same bit of one-way system three different ways and then refusing to admit the street the hotel had instructed me to find actually existed! We did eventually find our way to the right road, only to discover that it’s in a shopping area where cars are not allowed – except they have to be to get into the hotel’s car park. Several helpful people banged on the windows and informed me of this as well… Eventually I persuaded them that the red doors just ahead were the entrance to the car park. I could have lived without the drama to be honest. But at least we were in. The hotel was delightful and I would certainly like to stay there again, just not with my car. I think the Park and Ride car parks on the outskirts and then a transfer to a tram or the metro would be the sensible answer. I’m certainly NEVER driving in Lyon again. At least the Hotel Alexandra was well worth the effort.

We unpacked and then wandered out in search of a beer. It seemed essential after the stress of finding our way into the city. On our return to the hotel to freshen up before dinner, the receptionist asked me if I wouldn’t mind moving my car into a different space in the underground car park. No problem at all and there was no need to be apologetic about asking me. Actually, in a car with the driving seat on the “wrong” side, I was probably the only person who could use that space, given it meant the passenger door was flush against the wall once I was properly in the space. After that she was concerned that I might not have the correct sticker for driving in Lyon, so I went back down, took a photo of the crit’air sticker and confirmed that it was indeed what I needed. I had applied for it at the start of the year when we knew we’d be driving in France. And for anyone wondering, “The Crit’Air sticker (air quality certificate) classifies vehicles according to the fine particles and levels of nitrogen oxide that they emit. Crit’Air stickers are mandatory for driving in low-emissions zones introduced by certain local authorities or for driving when the préfet introduces emissions-based traffic restrictions during periods of pollution.” It costs around £4 and it’s way cheaper than the fines would be.

For dinner we headed to Le Comptoir d’Ainay, which was a modern take on the bouchon, I would say if pushed to categorise it. The food was modern but also very French, while the ambience was very similar to what I would expect in Copenhagen. Very much of the moment. The staff were great, very helpful and informative, as well as a lot of fun. It was one of the staff’s birthday and we ended up getting involved in the celebration. Which was probably unwise but had to be done. Food included an inevitable salade Lyonnaise, soupe de poissons, and a terrine de foie gras with pears for starters. Mains were sea bream, foie-gras, and garlic cream for Lynne, a beef cheek risotto for me, and the duck breast with a soya jus for A. It was excellent and so filling that we couldn’t manage dessert. We even took some of the duck and the beef away with us at the end of the evening. Given we were partly self catering I was already thinking about what I could do with them later in the week.

The following morning I made a brief sortie to a small local supermarket to pick up supplies for the rest of the week before we were on our way. Getting out of Lyon was slightly easier than getting in had been, but not much quicker with horrendous traffic on the autoroute until we reached the toll gates and the traffic melted away in that way that I have come to expect over the years. A coffee stop on the way meant we arrived in St. Remy de Provence just after lunch. We were a bit too early to head to our apartment, so instead we parked up on the edge of the town centre and went to hunt down a cold drink. The town looked lovely, with a proper medieval centre and lots of small boutiques and art galleries. It’s popular for good reason it seems.

Time was now marching on so we followed the directions provided by our hosts to get to Chez Stephanie et Marcel, a well appointed and well located apartment bolted on to their house up on the Plateau de la Petite Crau. We were introduced to Stephanie and Marcel, and Neige the dog, and were soon unpacked and installed in the two bedrooms, with food and drink in the fridge, clothes all hung up, and an urge to kick back and relax till the evening. We parked in the same place (Place Charles de Gaulle) as we had during the day and walked in to find a bar where we could sit and have an apero, a proper kir royale, which is pretty much compulsory.

We’d already established where the restaurant I’d booked for the evening was, and were soon installed on the terrace overlooking the main “ring road” (I’m using that term loosely – it takes about 10 minutes to drive the entirety of it – except on market day but that’s another story) and testing out another apero before getting stuck into more duck, more foie gras, and some wonderful langoustine raviolis.

I even managed a dessert this time, because I’d seen the raspberry tarts in the display cabinet and knew I had to try one. I wasn’t wrong – GUS is lovely and the food is delicious. It’s also open on a Sunday night which is rare and was the reason I’d opted for it in the first place. Well fed, well watered, and well satisfied with our choice of holiday location, we went back to the apartment for a good night’s sleep.