Day 4 - Royan to Bordeaux

Chiseled Germans, Roger Whitaker, AND sandwiches in a bus stop. This blog post has everything!

With the prospect of a ferry ride under clear blue skies, we enjoyed a brisk breakfast and headed out into the chilly morning. At the ferry terminal a couple of rake thin chiselled German blokes (who'd been waiting in the wrong queue - for God's sake!) ambled over expecting to demoralise us with their tales of great mileage. I just shrugged and said we were headed for Nice, and it was no big deal and they visibly crumpled.

Once off the ferry we headed down the reclaimed land into the sunshine with a slight tail wind behind us. We've taken to singing Roger Whitaker songs with worrying regularity (look him up millennials) - and it seems to take our mind off the saddle sores we're both developing. I might write to him to let him know...'There's a ship lies rigged and ready in the harboooour....'

It dawned on us along the way that May 8th had some significance - it's a national holiday to commemorate the end of the 2nd world war, and so NOTHING is open. At lunchtime we managed to pitch up at a supermarket with 7 minutes to spare, so Dave got some sandwiches, while I bought some diluted ice tea that required several gallons of water. We then proceeded to find a bus shelter and enjoyed our mini feast.

The afternoon was a bit of a slog in the 22 degrees heat, passing by one swanky vineyard after another.

We got to Bordeaux at about 4-00pm and checked into the hotel. I had this idea that we should try and find some local wines and be very conservative and discerning. After two pints, a kebab (to settle the nerves), and a walk through the beautiful city - we found a fancy wine bar where you could buy a card charged with credit to buy small glasses of the wines on offer. I could hear the bar owners advising people on the 'Chocolate after tones' and the 'hints of cassis' - we wanted to join in but 'I like this one, it's not got any of that soil in it' was the best we could manage.

We left, in bits.

Which is why we then went for an Italian meal, and a cognac on the way back to the hotel. It's the dream lifestyle if you're a drunk pacified by pasta...

One at basis it's time to turn in - Bordeaux is a beautiful city,, and I've not scratched the surface, Thank god...


Paul Carter

Obligatory selfie with Dave smiling through the pain

'Stick yer fancy restaurants'

'I like this Medoc mi'duck!'