September 2011 saw the first holiday on foreign soil for Willow and Stanley. We originally had grand plans for this summer’s little trip; to fit in a total of six countries, in order that we added a few to our list while we’re at it. But then we thought we’d make it a bit easier on ourselves, and just do one country instead.
The notion of staying in the same place for seven nights was all a bit different. But when you have two babies, approaching a year in age but really only nine months old, one still reliant on oxygen and the other suffering from a condition which means he’s often very uncomfortable, you have to go for the easy option sometimes.
So after hours and days and weeks of searching on every European holiday lettings website in existence, we settled on a gite near a town called Bauge in the Loire Valley. We also thought it would be a good idea to try out an overnight ferry journey on the way.
Leela spent a couple of days packing and organising, and we managed to fill up the spacious boot of our car quite quickly. Babies require a lot of equipment – sterilising units, bottles, a double buggy, four oxygen cylinders, sat monitors, a high chair, a bunch of toys, Stanley’s special physio chair, and all the usual paraphernalia.
The news that Hurricane Katia was approaching the UK wasn’t all that welcome, but luckily it sounded like it would only really affect the north west and would be arriving a day after we leave. Still, the forecast of weather on the English Channel looked a bit too windy for our liking. Not much we could do about that though.
Anyway, after a short drive to Portsmouth and a customary pre-holiday Zinger Tower meal, we boarded our vessel. The babies behaved impeccably on the boat. Even after having to wait an hour and a half before boarding, they only whinged for a little while before sleeping soundly all night. Which is more than I can say for Mummy and Daddy.
One nasty ferry crossing later, we arrived in Le Havre, still alive. The ‘long’ coffee I went to fetch on the ferry for our breakfast was a reminder of how small coffees are in France. With that tablespoon’s worth of dark caffeine liquid in our stomachs, we set off to find out what this country would hold in store for us this time around.
It was early on Sunday morning, so the roads were empty. The four hour journey took less than four hours, including a pit stop at a service station for the babies’ breakfast, and torrential rain for fifty or so miles on the motorway. We found our place of residence quite easily, without the need for sat nav or any of that jiggery-pokery. All you need is a map, some incorrect directions and a few roundabouts that didn’t exist when the map was printed.
The gite itself was a luxurious converted barn, which looked even better than the pictures on the website. If we had to stay anywhere for a whole week, then this is the place. With only one other residence anywhere near it, and no shops for a good five or six miles, this was a proper retreat – just what we wanted. The private garden backed onto a field, complete with eight cows which came and visited a few times a day.
On the day we arrived, all we wanted to do was settle in and enjoy a glass of wine on the terrace. Trouble was, it was Sunday, which apparently means that there is nowhere open to get any wine, even in France. We managed to find a boulangerie which had a bit of food to sell, but nothing even remotely grapey and alcoholic. Luckily though, we’d smuggled two cans of Carlsberg and half a bottle of Pinot Grigio onto the boat, which we were going to have in case we got desperate. Well, that time had come. What good is a beautiful sunset on the patio outside your cottage in the Loire Valley, if you haven’t got a couple of tinnies of British-brewed Danish lager and some Italian wine from the Co-op which has gone off a bit.
Because we stayed in each night, we ate out at lunchtime instead; which was usually very pleasant. However, at one particular restaurant in Villandry, it was anything but. I opted for a dish called 'andouillettes'. I knew I'd heard of this before, but couldn't remember where. The waiter said that it was like a sausage, so I thought - what could go wrong? Well, everything, it seems. It turns out an andouillette is made up of the crappiest bits of a pig that no-one in their right mind would ever eat; it actually tasted like a farmyard. Then I remembered where I'd heard that word before.... it was someone telling me "whatever you do, don't eat andouillettes". I should learn to listen more carefully.
I think Willow and Stanley enjoyed their first holiday. They were extremely well behaved, and managed to sleep nicely most nights. Only the first couple of days were a bit fretful.... probably because they were waking up in strange surroundings. At least they'll be getting used to sleeping somewhere different; they'll need that for when we do our first proper bit of adventure holidaying with them. Now, I have this crazy idea about travelling overland to Nepal.....
The notion of staying in the same place for seven nights was all a bit different. But when you have two babies, approaching a year in age but really only nine months old, one still reliant on oxygen and the other suffering from a condition which means he’s often very uncomfortable, you have to go for the easy option sometimes.
So after hours and days and weeks of searching on every European holiday lettings website in existence, we settled on a gite near a town called Bauge in the Loire Valley. We also thought it would be a good idea to try out an overnight ferry journey on the way.
Leela spent a couple of days packing and organising, and we managed to fill up the spacious boot of our car quite quickly. Babies require a lot of equipment – sterilising units, bottles, a double buggy, four oxygen cylinders, sat monitors, a high chair, a bunch of toys, Stanley’s special physio chair, and all the usual paraphernalia.
The news that Hurricane Katia was approaching the UK wasn’t all that welcome, but luckily it sounded like it would only really affect the north west and would be arriving a day after we leave. Still, the forecast of weather on the English Channel looked a bit too windy for our liking. Not much we could do about that though.
Anyway, after a short drive to Portsmouth and a customary pre-holiday Zinger Tower meal, we boarded our vessel. The babies behaved impeccably on the boat. Even after having to wait an hour and a half before boarding, they only whinged for a little while before sleeping soundly all night. Which is more than I can say for Mummy and Daddy.
One nasty ferry crossing later, we arrived in Le Havre, still alive. The ‘long’ coffee I went to fetch on the ferry for our breakfast was a reminder of how small coffees are in France. With that tablespoon’s worth of dark caffeine liquid in our stomachs, we set off to find out what this country would hold in store for us this time around.
It was early on Sunday morning, so the roads were empty. The four hour journey took less than four hours, including a pit stop at a service station for the babies’ breakfast, and torrential rain for fifty or so miles on the motorway. We found our place of residence quite easily, without the need for sat nav or any of that jiggery-pokery. All you need is a map, some incorrect directions and a few roundabouts that didn’t exist when the map was printed.
The gite itself was a luxurious converted barn, which looked even better than the pictures on the website. If we had to stay anywhere for a whole week, then this is the place. With only one other residence anywhere near it, and no shops for a good five or six miles, this was a proper retreat – just what we wanted. The private garden backed onto a field, complete with eight cows which came and visited a few times a day.
On the day we arrived, all we wanted to do was settle in and enjoy a glass of wine on the terrace. Trouble was, it was Sunday, which apparently means that there is nowhere open to get any wine, even in France. We managed to find a boulangerie which had a bit of food to sell, but nothing even remotely grapey and alcoholic. Luckily though, we’d smuggled two cans of Carlsberg and half a bottle of Pinot Grigio onto the boat, which we were going to have in case we got desperate. Well, that time had come. What good is a beautiful sunset on the patio outside your cottage in the Loire Valley, if you haven’t got a couple of tinnies of British-brewed Danish lager and some Italian wine from the Co-op which has gone off a bit.
On Monday morning we checked out the local supermarket to stock up on some proper French booze, so we would never find ourselves in last night’s situation again. We filled up the kitchen with Kronenbourg, some local wines, a good deal of cheese and a bag of pain au chocolates, and set off for the nearest town of Bauge. We went to a café and made sure we got a ‘large’ coffee. It was, of course, small – but very tasty. While we were at the coffee shop, we fed the babies their 11 o’clock bottle; after which, Stanley’s customary burp appeared to be directed at a local lady who was walking past at that moment. Even his cheeky smile couldn’t prevent the sour look she gave us. Perhaps she thought it was Leela burping at her.
Our week was spent in delightful towns like Saumur, which are mostly famous for their chateaux or their wines. Due to our new roles as responsible adults, our holidays have taken a more relaxed, less excessive turn. Evenings are spent doing sensible things that parents do - like chatting over a couple of bottles of wine and eating a lot of cheese. Because we stayed in each night, we ate out at lunchtime instead; which was usually very pleasant. However, at one particular restaurant in Villandry, it was anything but. I opted for a dish called 'andouillettes'. I knew I'd heard of this before, but couldn't remember where. The waiter said that it was like a sausage, so I thought - what could go wrong? Well, everything, it seems. It turns out an andouillette is made up of the crappiest bits of a pig that no-one in their right mind would ever eat; it actually tasted like a farmyard. Then I remembered where I'd heard that word before.... it was someone telling me "whatever you do, don't eat andouillettes". I should learn to listen more carefully.
I think Willow and Stanley enjoyed their first holiday. They were extremely well behaved, and managed to sleep nicely most nights. Only the first couple of days were a bit fretful.... probably because they were waking up in strange surroundings. At least they'll be getting used to sleeping somewhere different; they'll need that for when we do our first proper bit of adventure holidaying with them. Now, I have this crazy idea about travelling overland to Nepal.....
hello my name is kim i dont no if either of you remeber me from neonatal i have a son called thomas he was in the same room as stanley for a while i have been reading your blogs and finding them really cool its amazing to see how well willow and stanley are doing :)
ReplyDeletereally happy for you guys anyway just thought i would say hi :) x