2705 to Accrington

We had a full English breakfast included in our hotel price so thoroughly enjoyed eating something other than bread, croissants and jam for breakfast. We caught a bus into Manchester Piccadilly and then the train with one change to Accrington. It was after 1pm when we arrived and got back to Steve's mum's place.
At 5.30 we left again to catch the train back to Preston to go to the Prohibition Ball in the Masonic Hall with the purpose of meeting some cousins of mine for the first time. We arrived early so went out to find somewhere to eat, stumbling on a small place called Fazeer or something like that. There were three young men behind the counter continuously cooking. They offered a meal deal of Chicken Tikka, chips and a fizzy drink. Not liking soft drinks, I asked if they could possibly replace the drink with tea. The response was a wide smile and a puzzled yes. While we were eating they kept putting their heads around the corner of the counter and checking that everything was okay. It dawned on us that they must have had regular clientele from their own culture, and we were a rarity. They looked after us very well and , by the way, the tea was chai and though served in ready-to-melt plastic cups, was just what the doctor ordered.
Unfortunately one of my cousins, Babs, had hurt her back in the garden so was unable to attend the ball. We plan to see her on Tuesday, hopefully. The good news was that Lorraine Jenkins aka Swingaroo was there and sang three numbers as a duo (usually a trio) and we also met her mum and her rugby league mad step-dad who incidentally thinks Darren Lockyer is the best player of all time. Our complimentary drink from the bar was "tea" in a teacup (nudge nudge, wink wink) - remember this was a Prohibition ball. My tea had a strange flavour of whisky. Most people were dressed in Roaring Twenties gear: the women with lots of sparkles and the men with spats. Those who took the effort looked fantastic. During the course of the evening, a couple demonstrated and taught the Charlston. It was a a great idea, great venue, great fun, and great to catch up, if only briefly, with some rellies. Unfortunately we had to leave at 10 pm to catch the last train at 10.38 to Accrington. We got home after a brisk walk in the rain from the train station, at 11.30 pm and treated ourselves to a hot chocolate to warm ourselves up.
The weather is still bleak. I can see my suntan going down the plughole.

2605 Return to UK

For our last meal in France we shared a dozen oysters with lemon which was served on a bed of seaweed. The oysters were huge and strong with the taste of the sea. We walked around the side streets deciding to find a cafe away from the main drag. Jan ordered muscles but the rest of us were a teeny weeny bit more conservative. Steve M had a pizza, Steve B a well-done steak to counter balance the Tartare steak he had the night before, and I had a spag bol and green salad which just means iceberg lettuce in this neck of the woods. Steve ordered Tartare steak the night before after seeing a picture of a meal nearby. He got a big surprise when raw meat turned up on his plate and an even bigger surprise when it tasted good.
We woke to the sound of flamingos loudly honking in the etang about 200 metres as the crow flies from our room. There was a blanket of mist. Had a continental breakfast and then lugged our bags for about 5 minutes to the bus stop where we were pleased to see other people waiting. Our hotel manager, and apparently a worker in the tourist office also, had said the buses would run normally since the festival was over, but none of us were sure as there was a sign on the stop which, according to my best French translation, appeared to say buses were diverted from 23 to 26 May inclusive. Luckily someone came along who convinced us all we should move to the out-of-town stop which meant a further 10 minute lug with the added bonus of seeing flamingos in a small etang doing their wobbly knees dance to stir up the prawns from the bottom. The bus left at 0910 and arrived at the Gare Routiere (railway station) in Arles at 1021. This gave us 20 minutes to organise tickets and find the correct platform so we were cruising.
I must say that while I enjoy train travel I get fed up with the stairs down and up between platforms. We found lifts lacking in most places and escalators were often out of order. Moving between platforms is bedlam. People going both ways are spread out like Brown's cows which is not surprising because they are usually trying to manage more than one bag. Add to that, dogs on leads, the odd bicyle and the worry of missing a train, and you can get the picture. Due to security announcements and fear of theft, bags can't be let unattended so no-one takes one bag at a time.
The day we left there was a day of events that we would have loved to have seen. There was a demonstration of the Gardians work with the horses, followed by folk dancing in traditional costumes, a bull fight French style, and then running of the bulls through the streets back to the holding yards. When doing my research for this festival I couldn't find out anything except the two main days, the 24 and 25 May. Jan and Steve were staying one more day so we'll find out what they experienced when we catch up back in Oz.
The train journey again was beautiful. First through farm lands with lots of craggy hills and mountains, then along the coastline stopping at must see places such as Cannes. Note to self: must see another time. Between Marseille and Nice the train line follows the Mediterranean only occasionally taking a small detour around some obstacle but quickly returning to the sea. There were quite a few people enjoying the water and the sand/pebbles and the light was bright and shimmering and beckoning but ......... Once in Nice we caught a taxi to the airport where we had a hour wait until check in. The Taxi cost 27 EURO. Now that was something we hadn't considered and it was just lucky we had the cash.
So the 26 May was a day of moving: 15 minute lug to bus in Stes Maries de la Mer, bus to Arles, train to Marseille, train to Nice, taxi to airport, Jet2 plane to Manchester and taxi to the Britannia Airport hotel. How was the weather in Manchester? I hear you surmise. You don't want to hear the answer, really. Showers and 10 degrees C.