Tag: France

Tennis at hotel Moulin d’Hauterive – an aside, 1 to 5 September 2009

An aside about tennis during our short Burgundy break with Tony and Phillie – the main piece can be found here.

One of the reasons we booked the Moulin d’Hauterive  was because it boasted a tennis court amongst its amenities.

Janie and I have travelled far and we have travelled wide. Our tennis rackets and balls have travelled long distances with us. Occasionally the tennis courts we find at the hotels are not quite up to the standards we are used to at home, not that we have always played on very high standards of surfaces at home either. We are leisure players.

For example, we enjoyed the tennis court at the Zenobia Cham Palace Hotel in Palmyra in 1997 despite its idiosyncrasies – I don’t suppose it is up to much any more of course – point is, we make allowances.

But the tennis court at Moulin d’Hauterive almost defies description. Had the Burgundy region recently suffered a major war or a series of natural disasters of the earthquake and hurricane variety, the cracked, moonscape-like surface and the intermittence of the perimeter netting might have been explicable.

But this didn’t look like the result of a recent disaster. It looked like decades of neglectful, distressed gentility.

On challenge, the rather haughty proprietor’s son (who had sniffly advised us, when I asked about choosing wine to go with the specific food we had ordered, simply that the more expensive bottles were always the better ones) mumbled indifferently that the court was indeed due for some repairs soon.

We played each day. It is difficult to describe the game we played as tennis in the modern sense, but it was some form of a game with rackets and balls, plus we used the tennis scoring system. But in truth it was more of a range hitting game, where we aimed for the smooth if we wanted to perpetuate a rally or aimed for the rough if we wanted a laugh.

Memorable is probably the best adjective for it.

I note that hotel Moulin d’Hauterive no longer boasts the tennis court amongst its amenities. What a pity.

A Few Days in Burgundy With Tony and Phillie, 1 to 5 September 2009

I had to do some serious detective and memory work on this short trip to Burgundy, as I didn’t keep a journal.

Here is an extract from an e-mail from “Auntie Janet” at Ultimate Travel:

I think you are best to fly to Lyon, which is about 2 hours/86 miles from the hotel.

The flights are as follows:

01 Sept.    BA 360    Depart Heathrow 08.40    Arrive Lyon 11.15

05 Sept.    BA 363    Depart Lyon 19.25    Arrive Heathrow 20.00

…small automatic hire car, Citroen C3 or similar…will be on request if you want to go ahead and they can be quite scarce.

Darn right about scarcity – we ended up needing to reacquaint ourselves with a stick shift for that trip.

We ended up booking this hotel, Moulin d’Hauterive. It boasted a pool and a tennis court. The tennis court was an interesting wreck, I remember, variable bounce, varying between “in yer face” and non-existent, like playing real tennis except without walls, galleries and roofs. I have written a short aside on the tennis – here.

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Tony and Phillie were going to be on a driving all the way to South of France holiday late August. The idea was for us to join them in a nice spot mid-France as they wended their way back to Blighty. Once we’d booked, I wrote:

We fly in to Lyon late morning on the Tuesday, so should arrive at the hotel some time mid afternoon if all goes to plan.  Suspect we might get there before you unless you leave early and put your foot down.

The hotel restaurant does not open on Wednesdays and the nearest alternative is some 15 kms away from the hotel.  We might want to try that alternative place or we might want to arrange a picnic for the Wednesday!  We can decide all that when we are there, but thought you ought to know this vital fact.

We did indeed arrive some time before them on the Tuesday, 1 September. Janie got busy making sure that we (and Tony/Phillie) had the best available rooms, which got us off to an interesting start with the son of the proprietor, whose name escapes me and is absent from the website. Sonny took pains to tell us that he had worked in advertising in Paris for many years, before reluctantly agreeing to retreat and help run the family business when it got a bit harder for his parents. The parents were noticeably absent throughout our stay.

I recall that we did indeed eat in the hotel with Tony and Phillie on the Tuesday and the Thursday evening. The food was very good there. The wine pricey but that’s Burgundy for you. I also recall us going into Beaune on the Wednesday evening and having a very pleasant meal in the town. Tony decided to drive in the end, after we toyed with the idea of getting taxis too and fro.

We mostly just all relaxed together for two-and-a-half to three days. Tony and Phillie set off for home Friday morning; we’d booked the extra night.

Tony and Phillie both looked at us quizzically before they headed off when the answer to their question, “what are you going to do after we leave today?” was, “we’re going to the Bresse service station for lunch”.  Our culinary service station quest was largely a result of reading this article by aptronym extraordinaire Heston Blumenthal.

We did also want to see Beaune…

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…and Bourg-en-Bresse, but the most important bit was to eat lunch at the Bresse service station, where they serve poulet-de-Bresse and yes indeed it was wonderful food.

After lunch, we strolled around and found a nice music shop (I think in Bourg, not Beaune) where I bought some very good CDs, not least Jean-Guihen Queyras’s Complete Bach Cello Suites (we have subsequently seen him perform at the Wigmore Hall – click here). We also bought some well-cool Paris Jazz CDs, which Janie still plays when she is feeling in a suitably continental mood.

When we got back, the weather had perked up, so we played tennis and relaxed around the pool.  I was reading Life Beyond the Airing Cupboard by John Barclay – a seriously good book btw.

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King Cricket published my book review of Life Beyond The Airing Cupboard in October 2017 – click here or the above photo.

If anything were ever to happen to the King Cricket site, a scrape of that review can be found here.

We didn’t take many photos on that trip; indeed I think none until after Tony and Phillie had gone. In truth, Phillie was not very well by then (it turned out to be Phillie’s last holiday) and I don’t think she much fancied being photographed. The few pictures we did take are of Beaune and of me and Janie relaxing when we got back from our poulet-de-Bresse quest – on this small album going forward from the starting point.

A Family Holiday With The Schambill Family In Port Leucate, August 1971

We befriended the Schambill family while in Juan-les-Pins the previous year.

A Family Holiday In Juan-les-Pins, August 1970

In that baby-boom era, I suspect that Jean-Pierre & Marie-Therese (Monsieur et Madame) Schambill were as conscious as my parents that their son, Jean-Michel and I were relatively rare examples of only children. The fact that Jean-Michel and I had got along well and allowed the grown ups to enjoy their holiday time in relative peace was probably a fair chunk of the rationale behind the Port Leucate adventure in 1971.

The Schambills had a villa in Port Leucate, as did a friend of theirs, depicted above, who was also to holiday their with his son, Luke and (I think) his mother or mother-in-law.

Luke, Me & Jean-Michel Made Three

I think Luke was a bit older than us, but not too much so and we all got along. I remember that Luke liked a cartoon character named Lucky Luke, so of course that was his nickname and of course we played cowboys with him in the Luke role, whatever that might have been.

In truth I don’t remember all that much about this holiday. The small stack of 20 photographs that I have uncovered, fifty years on, help a bit – Flickr album here or below:

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There is also some cine – just a couple of minutes 13’15” to 15’20” in the following reel:

You get to see what the Port Leucate beach looks like and also the villa we stayed in is depicted briefly.

I remember the food. Several of the French adults had been raised and/or had lived for several years in North Africa, so meals in the villa had a distinctly French/Maghrebi style to it. I remember finding it very exotic and taking to it; whereas I think my mother found it a bit strange. Cous-cous? What’s that?

I know we corresponded with the Schambills for some time after that holiday – certainly Jean-Michel and I were sort-of pen pals for a while. I have a feeling that one or other or possibly both of Jean-Michel’s parents in time visited mum and dad in Streatham, but I don’t think I saw them again after that 1971 holiday.

I wonder what they…and in particular Jean-Michel, might be up to now?

A Family Holiday In Juan-les-Pins, August 1970

This holiday in Juan-les-Pins was my first taste of travel outside the UK and my first time on a plane. I was coming up to eight years old and remember little about it in truth.

One of my few abiding memories of the holiday is connected with the headline photograph – I do remember learning to swim under the tutelage of the swimming instructor depicted. The picture illustrates the physical element of his method, which was combined with the constant repetition of his sole word of English – “swim” – stated in a baritone French accent, part entreaty, part hypnotism I imagine.

Suffice it to say, the fellow’s method must have worked on me – I did eventually learn to swim. I think my neck might be a bit longer than it otherwise would have been too.

Jean-Michel Schambill & Me

My other abiding memory was meeting & befriending the Schambill family. Jean-Michel was bit older than me, but well “within range” and our respective parents seemed pleased for us to become pals.

A rummage through old photographs has uncovered a few pictures from that holiday that I probably hadn’t seen since the time, including the picture below, with me and Monsieur Schambill on a pedalo, with Madame Schambill doing the hard work by the looks of it.

We got so friendly with the Schambill family that we ended up holidaying with them again the following year, in Port Leucate.

A Family Holiday With The Schambill Family In Port Leucate, August 1971

Meanwhile, in Juan-les-Pins, we stayed in the Hotel De France, as depicted in the picture below.

Looks quite posh. I don’t think it is there now – at least not under that name.

There is a decent stretch of 8mm cine from that holiday – the first 13’10” of the reel below. You can see “Monsieur Swim” at work. You can also see Bill Ruffler – of Ruffler & Walker fame, having a go at water-skiing. I do remember mum and dad going on about the coincidence of running into the Rufflers in Juan – Bill’s business premises were a few doors down from dad’s shop in Battersea.

The photos above and a few more are all in a Flickr album – click here or below:

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Not many detailed memories from that age and stage, but my impressionistic recollection is that I had a wonderful time and found the whole “going abroad” thing quite thrilling.