The pace of Paris has been left behind with our TGV transportation to Provence. As arranged, Chris and Paulette arrived at rue Vaucanson just prior to the agreed 9.30 am by taxi. The driver helped us load our luggage and offered me the keys as I attempted to enter the front left hand seat! Squeeze, fakie, foot down past Le bus, squeeze again, around the rondelle and we were shutting down someone's space at Gare de Lyon. I now know why French F1 champions are thin on the ground - their reversing mirrors have been ripped off!
Post dejeanuer (an alarmingly delicious SNCF salad), we arrived at Gare de Canne, and miracle of miracles, the escalators were working! The mountain of luggage was lodged against the railing and the instruction "look after that" saw Chris and I set off along the shady side of rue d'Antibes in search of Avis, Camilla and our people mover. Memories of Canne were frightenly brought back to life as we dodged over-tanned, ultra blinged waves of white Gucci, Dior and Dolce & Gabanna. The large Eastern European type (of which there are many) wearing a singlet and multiple gold chains emerged from the Louis Vouitton shop with a "classy" Russian blond, and really set the tone with his finger up his nose!
Chris' driving skills came to the fore despite Paulette's manipulation of GPS Jane, who directs in yards (handy that!), and the amazed, if worried, look on the face of the passing gendarme. We arrived at the beautiful Seillans described by Lonely Planet as "an irresistibly pretty, typical Provencal village with cobbled lanes coiling to its crown and a village only the stone hearted will be able to resist". Multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms and a pool will be enjoyed to the utmost. We continue to pinch ourselves that we are actually here.
Due to our late arrival, we were unable to find a place to eat in Seillans and manouevred Jane's chariot down the mountain to Fayence in search of vittels. We passed on the pub's kebabs and were soon shown to our table at L'Assiette de Florette. Le premiere waitress good naturedly took our unfocussed orders (Salmon salade et frittes, Camilla?), and began fulfilling our dreams.
Now, I could wax lyrically about Kim and Chris' poisson de jour, Paulette's whole sole and Camilla's carpaccio de salmon, but that would be distracting you (dear reader) from my dinner - Le Speciale! Six of the best huites de mer (5 if you discount the one Kim ate), six crevettes, six unidentified crustacea and half a lobster unadorned, save for a mere-ly decorative salade covering the sole shaped plate. Le waitress premier set the scene with Le plate separate presenting home made mayo, dressing Le shallot, home baked bread and butter a Le gauche. An array of implements seldom seen since the first heart transplant completed Le plan de Guerre. I turned the plate around to position the prawns to the fore, thought better of it and reversed my procedure to bring the oysters to Le position prominent.
Bastards! While I was having the time of my life slurping oysters, stripping prawns of shell and cracking lobster, my dining companions had consumed the second bottle of Rose, and I thought they were well brought up!
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