A slow travel blog by Phoebe--a slow travel lover, and Mon-- a slow travel hater. Follow our journey from London- Paris- Marseille- Hyères-Genoa-Bologna-Venice all done via train without a plane in sight. Our first article, below, is focused on our time in France.
P: = Phoebe
M:= Mon
Day 1. 28/8/24. London to Paris.
M: D-day for the likes of me. Slow travel? Its wasn’t even on my radar. As a guy who spends most of his working hours selling suits in a basement or sweating buckets in a tailors workshop with limited time on holiday, I’m making every minute count. My
partner in crime, Phoebe, is an avid slow travelling queen. She absolutely swears by
it. I on the other hand prefer a faster pace of life including traveling by the fastest
means possible.
P: We are sitting in departures awaiting the Eurostar and to my shock and horror, have learnt that it is delayed. The departure time is reading 19.00 rather than 18.30 and I can’t believe it. I am also very aware that every delay or inconvenience will be carefully registered by Mon (currently sat beside me and also writing furiously).
Nonetheless, aside from this, it’s been a delight. We checked in one hour before, an absolute breeze and with no annoying liquid bags or 100 ml requirements. Beforehand, opposite the gates, we toasted our adventure to come in the not so aptly named ‘Breakfast Club’ of St. Pancras. To move onto more important things however, I cannot BELIEVE the size of this lads suitcase, I’ve seen London flats that are smaller. Another thing I would like to hold onto is the fact that during my passport check I got asked by the queue manager ‘francais’? Does this mean I might actually ‘pass’ in Paris and not get recognised as a ‘touriste’ (the humiliation!) everywhere I go?!
M: 6.31PM the suffering begins… I’m not completely against slow travel, it just wouldn’t
be my first choice. As described before. I've got limited time.
Passport and security were an absolute breeze--I knew they would be. I’m practically a
seasoned traveler when it comes to the Eurostar, I've been on it four times and I know exactly what to expect. With this said, I’m feeling confident we will leave exactly on time… right?
P: It is now 19.15 PM and we are still waiting to board. Delays on the Eurostar I always thought were as rare as blue moons. Am I bad luck?
M: 7.20 PM. ALL ABOARD. 55 min late.
Finally sat down on the train. At this point I'm just happy to be on board. The instant
relief compared to sitting in a hall full of travellers. Not ideal.
Phoebe insisted on sitting at a 4 man table so that we were able to 'connect and
communicate' with our fellow travellers. We’ve had nothing of the sort when it comes to small talk. They speak French, Phoebe and I do not.
I decide it’s a good time to whip out some Rick Stein but Phoebe can't
keep her eyes away from the view of motorways and empty fields..
assuring me that the views are 'absolutely the best ever'.
20.48 RUDELY interrupted by the driver while watching my beloved Rick, telling
us that we will be even more delayed. Our slow travelling queen is now also getting frustrated at the situation at hand. I thought I'd never see the day..
P: We eventually arrived to Paris at 11.40 PM—drawing slowly into Gare du Nord and made our way to our hotel and beds via the metro system. Himself was angling for a taxi but I was not keen. Classically however, we seemed to be met by every flight of step possible-- greeted each time by some colourful language by himself. But, that’s what you get for bringing a small horse rather than a sensibly packed suitcase on a trip designed around trains and slow travel, am I right?
M: Both tired and itching to get off the train, we finally arrive at midnight. A far cry from the time we were supposed to arrive which was 9.50 PM . The epitome of slow travel.
I will give it to Eurostar however, they are fair. They offered everyone on that journey
compensation. No quibbles no quabbles: reminding everyone via intercom
and email.
MON RATING.
We all know the Eurostar is the best way to travel to Paris. Its quick. Reliable
(sometimes) and gets you into the centre of the city without all the kerfuffle.
With that said, is the Eurostar even considered slow travel?
I would give the journey a solid 3.5/5
Would've been a very strong 4 or even higher without the delay.
To see the visuals of the above section of the adventure, click here.
Day 4. 31/8/24. Paris to Marseille
P: This morning we awoke with the larks, at 4.30 AM in order to board our 6 AM train to Marseille. It said in the small print that we should arrive half an hour before and himself, being a careful and diligent traveller, followed this to the tee. Nonetheless, our cheerful taxi driver jollied us along whizzing us through the streets and onto Gare de Lyon, talking of the grand plan for ‘le grand paris’ whereby the suburbs are soon to be included within the boundaries of the city. He likened this to London including its own 'suburbs' "like say, Bristol!".
With only two full days in the city before this early start we had been keen to make the most out of them, intending to (you guessed it) wake with the larks and sleep with the—owls? Not naturally being larks, this was not exactly what happened but with the promise each time of wonderful ‘boulangeries’ and ‘café’, we were hitting the pavements in high spirits. Himself was keen to do all of the touristy sites, explained each time with the catch phrase ‘when in Rome’. If we ever do go to Rome I am curious to know how this will be replaced.
M: So I had the bright idea of booking the earliest train to Marseille thinking we
would be sensible the night before. WRONG. I must say I shocked myself. We did
have a great meal/night (my co-host will go into our itinerary) but going to bed at 1.30
AM to then wake up at 4.30 AM is not what one does on holiday. I must say I was impressed by the fact we actually left on time and it's smooth sailing from now on so will catch some sort of sleep….
P: Nonetheless, a happy medium was found---his Montmartre for my artist squat exhibition space. His pantheon for my ‘off the beaten-track’ cute street with thrift stores and vintage shops. Our overlap is often on food and on our last night we ate in Le Bouillon Chartier (the Montparnasse branch) a restaurant I had found named by AA Gill which he'd described while bemoaning the lack of affordable eating spots in London. In full agreement with this sentiment, an eatery originally created for Parisian workers to enjoy classic French fare at affordable prices and still holding onto this ethos, sounded like something I couldn’t miss. Apparently however it is something that half of France ( and admittedly some tourists too) do not want to miss and we were greeted by a snaking queue of hungry, glamorous, old, young, rowdy, patient, chattering people. We joined the throng, waited for an hour and were not disappointed. We dined on escargots, herring, beef fillet, chips, confit duck and more all whilst ogling at the incredible art deco interior, tiled walls and mirrors galore—so you could admire yourself pigging out.
M: 20 min later and sleep was non existent. But, I must say, It was a pleasant journey and I would do it again. For the price point, you cannot complain. Unlimited bags and all the liquids you can carry.
Note: we booked a bit in advance and got the first train so prices would be cheaper. We paid £60 for two people.
P: Our train, in happy contrast to the Eurostar followed its departure time with a Germanic level of precision. It is huge and double-decker with baby blue and pink coloured seats and lots of luggage space. To my right, I look out the window to the countryside whizzing by, shapes slowly coming into form as the morning light begins to brighten. Ghostly trees steeped in fog turn soon to lush green hills, villages nestled in valleys and a piercing sunlight that seems to want to tell you that sleep is forbidden.
Click here to see the footage of our time in Marseille and the travels there...
Day 6. 2/9/24. Marseille to Hyères
P: A longer time in bed compared to our last travel day and very welcome it was. Wandering Marseille after our early start and negligible hours of sleep had us like two very flat tyres. It very nearly killed Mon off---I think he was about to throw me into a fish stew and serve me up to the seagulls when I suggested we ‘wander around the cool arty district’ (for anyone interested it’s called Le Panier and is an absolute delight, containing boutique shops, fun bars and brilliant artists’ studios and exhibition spaces). So now, here we are on board our regional train to Hyères; once again it departed with superb efficiency. It’s modern, comfortable and contains plugs for our phones. The only thing it may have struggled with was fitting himself’s monstrosity of a bag but c’est la vie.
M: A pleasant start to the day. Not too early. Our train was scheduled for 10.07 AM and
guess what? Arrived bang on time. I'm starting to think I was a bit harsh on the Eurostar.
Anyway, another double-decker number. Regional train. Not much space for luggage. Saying that, our UK trains are even worse so I won’t complain. Also note that I'm carrying
around a big fuck off suitcase unsuitable for any situation other than moving to
Australia.
P: Looking out of the windows I can see to my left the sparkling blue sea of the Côte d’Azur and bulbous mountains, to my right I see gently sloping hills with houses nestled on their sides. The earth looks red and scorched and the trees are a scrubby mixture of cypress, olive trees and local looking pine. All are comfortable with the beating sun and dry soils. Every now and then a vineyard is spotted and the image of a cold glass of wine in a bustling square or shaded terrace is imprinted on my brain. I am excited for Hyères but can’t help but wish we had longer in Marseille. We only scratched the surface of its sprawling mass, enticing Mediterranean relaxed feel and unmistakably creative, young and fun atmosphere. Himself was less impressed—describing it as ‘too hip for its own good’ but I’m in firm disagreement with that one. Perhaps growing up in the countryside has made me a sucker for large cities that seem to offer something different on every street corner and with that offering seem to constantly allude you. I was, in effect, in a constant state of FOMO.
Something we agreed with in Marseille however was, once again, the subject of food. Last night, following a guidebook’s recommendation, we ate in ‘La Passarelle’ restaurant. Its menu and dishes were everything we hoped for: creative in their combinations, seasonal, fresh and so so tasty. We tried chickpea fries ('Panisses'), a fresh beef salad with pomegranate and aubergine ‘caviar’, octopus, a still unnamed ‘fish of the day’ (the waitor said it was a local fish and didn’t know what it would be called in English—fine by us) served on sticky black rice and finally, to round it all off a rice pudding slightly spiced and served with clementine.
Our appetite had been worked up through our hike in the Calanques (the national park neighbouring the city famed for limestone cliffs and crystaline blue fjords) and a visit to Corbussier’s ‘le cite radieuse’---brutalist, impressive but maybe not quite the ideal way of living he had in mind. Apparently the locals nickname it ‘la maison du fada’. Fada means ‘simple minded or crazy’. Perhaps not what the ‘pioneering’ architect and urban planner had in mind as his legacy.
M: The scenery is SO beautiful. Passing through endless vineyards and greenery and
mountains and beaches. It's all just lovely jubley.
And here the video edit of our adventures in Hyères and how we got there!
Day 8. 4/9/24. Hyères to Genova
M: D Day part 2.
This is the part of our journey which I am probably least looking forward to.
our journey and departure times is as follows:
Hyères-Toulon: 6.03 AM
Toulon-Nice ville: 6.43 AM
Nice-Ventimiglia: 8.50 AM
Ventimiglia-Genoa: 9.57 AM
Yes you read that right. 6 AM.
What is it about trains and 6.03 AM? A reoccurring theme. Again a very early start all
in the name of slow travel.
P: It is not yet 10 am and we are on train number four, finally heading directly to Genova (or Genoa to the Italians). We awoke at 5 AM to catch our first train to Toulon, leaving the sleeping town of Hyères in darkness…presumably waking to another sun shiny day. Needless to say, this is the only section of the journey that I am vaguely alert, snoozing my way through most of the trains so far and waking up at intervals to sneak peaks of craggy cliffs, bobbing yachts and blue seas.
M: First train was pleasant enough. Both Phoebe and I stumbling onto the train with one eye open but it was short lived as we had to get off soon after. Nothing much to report on scenery. It was very dark outside and only a few people on board.
The second train was interesting. I must say, since our travels, I have got used to the
modern clean trains with nice bright lights and spacious seats. This train however,
was not that. No luggage racks (well none that could hold my suitcase) tight seats and yellow lights. Had to opt for the good ol' seat rack instead to hold my beloved
suitcase that is the size of a 12 year old boy.
We got some nice scenery but my co-host ruined the experience by laying her heavy
head on my shoulder, restricting any movement on my end so that she could have a
cosy sleep while I sat guard to our luggage.
P: But now to reflect on Hyères, our time in its town itself was limited to just one evening, our last, when we finally ventured out of our beachside hotel on its long armed peninsula to its ‘vielle ville’. This section of the town is medieval and made up of cobbled narrow streets, all with an incline leading its wanderers away from the tempting sea and up into the hills behind the town. The atmosphere is quaint and relaxed; a perfect melting pot of seaside wealth and historic mountain town history and culture. Easily longer could have been spent exploring these streets but after the bustling city of Marseille the long strips of white sand and blue waters were what we wanted. Hyère’s beaches and their surrounds, rather than being populated with hotels and casino’s à la many of southern France’s resorts instead are lush and green full of Mediterranean pine offering shade and relief from the baking sun. On our only full day in the area we caught a ferry to Porquerolles a green lush island twenty minutes away from Hyère’s port and offering delicious beaches inviting us to do absolutely nothing but bathe like hippo’s in their Caribbean like waters. Catching up with old friends was the order of the day here and I truly think that there is no better feeling than sweet sweet nostalgia in new, warm and exciting locations.
M: Halfway through our journey I thought it would be nice to stretch my legs a little and pay a visit to the loo. After all it cant be that bad right? I was met by a dirty, smelly toilet. Much like a portaloo at a festival. Let's just say a sit down wee wasn’t first on my list.
As I put up the toilet seat. I feel a slight stickiness to the lid and unveiled the horror:
completely blocked and water sloshing everywhere. I let out a yelp as the toilet water nearly sloshed over me and I slammed down the toilet just in time. I can only imagine what the French were thinking when they heard all the commotion. I washed my hands for 40 seconds straight. Soaped up 4 times. No germ will survive the ordeal I put them through.
I then swiftly made my way back to my seat to sit out the remainder of the journey
traumatised by what just happened.
My co-host. Still half asleep, is longing for some sort of caffeine. In her own words. “I
can't do anything without coffee in my system. She then looks at me, bats her eyes.
“can you carry my bags?”
P: In order to write, caffeine was needed so on our changeover in Nice I left himself with the bags in order to make a desperate dash for ‘une grande café’. It was the closest we have come to blows on this journey.
M: Eventually we pull into Nice and Phoebe just cant take it anymore. She has to get a coffee. Now this was probably the shortest transit of the trip. With only ten minutes to spare, she makes a dash. I'm sure she’ll tell her side of the story but she was cutting it fine.
Fast forward 9 mins after she left me. The train was about to leave and I have all the
bags. Now, do I board without her or stay on the platform like a good travel
companion?
P: I returned, spilling coffee in hand to a train just about to pull away from the platform.
M: I must say the temptation to get on the train without her was very real....but NO I am not leaving without her. Plus I'll never let her hear the end of it and I get all the grumpy rights. Out of nowhere she appears with a smug look and coffee and postcards in hand. Postcards??
At this point, I don’t even care. Just get on the train. Me with my suitcase the size of a teenage boy is struggling to get through the aisle. Had we boarded earlier then we would have got a seat but no. Someone had to get a coffee....
P: The silent stare said it all once we had stuffed ourselves onto the already stuffed train. I have been banned from doing between-train coffee runs again.
M: To say I was annoyed is an understatement. Once we crammed our bodies and
bags on the train like sardines in a tin I look at phoebe and ban her in public from any other coffee breaks while travelling with tight connections.
P: Nonetheless, the following section of the journey easily made up for the stressful interlude. Hugging the ocean’s side all the way along the Côte d’Azur it may have been the most beautiful section of the journey so far. With its mixture of small coves and rocky outcrops, its complicated startling landscape contrasts delightfully to the crass millionare lifestyle which has come to be associated with its many towns.
Stay tuned for our travels in ITALIA....
XOXO
P & M
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