Last night I arrived at La Bourboule, after a long and weary day of travelling. I have gone there so often now that I have the routine down pat. I get up at , perform the necessary grooming rituals, add whatever utensils are part of said ritual and need to be taken on holiday to the suitcase, and off I go to the bus stop around the corner.
coach to Baker Street, then bus to Eurostar Terminal. Normally I hail a cab, but this time I bumped into a charming French lady who was heading in the same direction and insisted I take the bus with her. Much cheaper and just as quick! I never take a large or heavy suitcase, so really a taxi is an inexcusable extravagance. But the bus can only be used with a ticket purchased from a machine which only accepts exact coins, and usually I don’t have them, and anyway by the time I go on my annual holiday I am so exhausted I can’t think of such things. But this lady was very resolute, so I had no choice but to save £10. I am very grateful to her, needless to say.
At I arrive at the terminal and go straight for Quotidien, who serve very good breakfast indeed. Then I check in and spend the time before I have to board the train walking around looking for lucky coins. Nothing this time!
arrive at Paris Gare du Nord. Line D to Gare de Lyon – much less bother than the Metro which requires a change. I retrieve my ticket from a dispenser and spend the time until doing a bit of light shopping and looking for lucky coins. Two 2 cent pieces and one 1 cent piece! A good start for the trip!
The journey to Clermont Ferrand takes three and a half hours. It was boiling hot, and the train was packed. I sat next to an intelligent, beautiful, and extremely gracious French lady who spoke no English, which I exploited shamelessly by talking to her in my terrible French for at least two hours. We discussed everything from the weather to the economic situation and of course La Bourboule, which she, too, preferred to Le Mont Dore, and when she left she told me that my French was very good. Very good? I exclaimed. But my grammar is so awful, you must have suffered greatly to hear me murder your beautiful language like that. Not at all, she replied firmly, you have a unique way of speaking French and it is very charming. Well, can you beat that? If I did not already love the French I would have fallen in love with them right there and then.
From Clermont Ferrand I took a tiny little train to La Bourboule. Normally I have to take a coach (Autocar in French), but since it is still the main tourist season the little train was running. And it had air-conditioning!!!!
I arrived hot and exhausted shortly after in La Bourboule. Les Isles Britanniques had already e-mailed me the number needed for getting into the front door and my room number, so all I had to do was walk in and take possession. Unpacking took very little time since I travel light, and within half an hour I was ready for dinner.
Before dinner I paid a quick visit to my bench on top of La Roche des Fees. It looked as though someone had tried to steal the plaque, it was a little scratched and one of the screws was a bit loose, but otherwise all was in order. Having thus completed my evening walk, I went as usual to Les Galapagos for dinner and was greeted like an old friend. I was back!
