Bonus Trips to Villefranche-sur-Saône, Dijon and Postscript

Days 20 and 21

I am delighted that Belleville-sur-Saône has a station from where you can easily reach some splendid destinations. 

The station itself has been beautifully restored, which is lovely to see. As is so common at French railway stations, there is a nice restaurant nearby. 

'Le Buffet de La Gare' is very popular with locals. So much so, that all the tables on the terrace are full when I pop in for lunch, so I have to sit in the bar. But that's great, because I can watch the hustle and bustle and just soak up the atmosphere.

I just manage to finish my meal before I have to dash to catch the regional express train to Villefranche-sur-Saône, only 12 minutes along the track towards Lyon. I am delighted to find that the station is only a short walk from centre ville. The people at the tourist office are especially helpful in telling me what sights there are to see. 

In the office, there's an extraordinary machine, which dispenses a selection of Beaujolais wine at the press of a button. I purchase the necessary smart card and enjoy sampling a Brouilly and a Fleurie. Just as I am about to leave, a French lady engages me in conversation. This turns out to be Liliane Melinand, whose family run the Domaine des Marrans in Fleurie. Her wine is one of the dozen or so in the machine and I think she is rather pleased to see that someone is actually trying it out.

Villefranche-sur-Saône turns out to be well worth a visit, with lots of historical buildings, some dating back to the 15^th century, to see, a lovely 12^th century church and much besides. I am glad I am walking rather than in a car because the main drag, the rue Nationale, seems to be almost permanently gridlocked. For not the first time in Beaujolais, I note that the bakers shops seem to be vying with each other to produce the biggest meringues in town!

It's back to Belleville-sur-Saône for dinner, where we are joined by two Belgian couples. Dinners at Domaine Geoffray are always a delight, but especially when other folk are booked in. (The following night, three French couples arrive in 'Camping-Cars'. I have a look inside the impressive camper vans and am not surprised to discover that they each cost over €52,000. Gulp.)

My final bonus trip is on the line north to Dijon, famous mustard-producing town.

The station is undergoing a major transformation for the arrival of a new TGV line and, on September 1^st, two new tram lines. It's impossible to walk through Dijon without seeing publicity about the new DIVIA service, which will incorporate new smart card technology.

If Villefranche-sur-Saône was packed with history, Dijon just oozes it, although the Tourist Office is rather less forthcoming about what there is to see than their colleagues in Villefranche. That's bizarre but maybe it is just the smaller organisation being better at capitalising on their fewer number of resources?

I stop for a much-needed haircut and although I am not keen, 'un shampooing' is, apparently, 'obligatoire'. I am at pains to explain to the girl that I do not want too much cut off, but she does what she does and I won't need to visit a hairdresser again for quite a while.

Dijon is a lovely city with many lovely old buildings. I am drawn to Les Halles market, which is absolutely splendid and clearly hugely popular. It is surrounded by little cafés and restaurants which, at 1pm, are similarly packed. 

I choose the Café de l'Industrie, mainly because it seems to be especially popular and I am lucky to be given the one recently vacated table. It turns out to be an absolutely excellent choice. Interestingly, by the time I leave at 2.30, most of the hustle and bustle has left the street, the market stalls surrounding Les Halles are all gone and Dijon has gone into Saturday afternoon slumber mode.

I have to buy some mustard, but while a visit to the Maille Moutarde shop is interesting, the prices are extortionate. So I head to the nearby Monoprix supermarket where the same products are a lot more kind to the pocket.

I have added brief details of my two bonus trips just as an example of how flexible and easy it is to get about using railways as a means of travel. And how much there is to discover close to the many thousands of stations throughout Europe. I especially enjoy not being stuck in traffic or going around in circles trying to find a parking space. I like the fact that trains are generally comfortable, much more spacious than aircraft and there is no hassle about security.

For users of InterRail passes, the main tip is to book ahead on routes where there are compulsory reservations. That is especially vital when trying to use French High Speed Trains, the TGV's. Wherever possible, use the excellent network of Regional Express trains which are often less crowded and a lot more fun than their faster equivalents.

But do plan ahead. The Thomas Cook book 'Europe by Rail' and their European Rail Map are essentials. Their regularly updated timetables too are great to have with you, but, if you are online, I can also recommend the German Railways' website for the best up to date timetable information for all European trains.

Of course, as one who has been a victim of robbery, be vigilant with your valuables, especially near major railway stations.

An InterRail pass represents great value, is available in many options and can be bought by anyone.

In closing, I'd like to thank Eurail for giving me the opportunity to do the trip I'm also very grateful to the many friends who have contributed to such an excellent three weeks and the many new folk I have met along the way and who have helped make it such an experience.

If you haven't InterRailed before, try it. You will not be disappointed.

Best of the trip photos are at:

The very best of European Rail Journey 2012

You can see all the photos at:

European Rail Trip 2012

Day 6 Dieppe to Dresden, via Paris, Stuttgart, Frankfurt, Leipzig and Chemnitz

Ghislaine kindly drops me at Dieppe Station well in time to catch the 0801 train to Rouen. It's a bit early for breakfast, so I have popped out to the local boulangerie for some wonderfully buttery croissants to eat en route. The first attempt nearly ends in a delayed departure, when they decide to stop the traffic to open the bridge to let a fishing boat out.

As always, I have enjoyed Dieppe and one little booklet, 'A taste of Dieppe' has been especially useful. Produced by expat, Peter Avis, it's a really insightful guide to where to go in the local area. I have been using the 2011 edition; I very much hope they have the foresight and the budget to produce another.

There are clear signs in Dieppe that the area is feeling the financial squeeze, with many shops, restaurants and offices shuttered or on offer for sale or rent. I am sure the area will recover, because it really does have a lot to offer.

There are no problems on the first legs of the long train journey, although I am a bit disappointed that the Rouen to Paris sector is fulfilled by an old style loco and carriages. But it's quiet enough, except that, as we approach the French capital, dozens of folk pile through to the front of the train to save a few seconds in exiting. I stay put till they are out of the way.

My transit between Gare Saint Lazare and Gare de l'Est in Paris is easily achieved with one stop on the RER Line A and one stop on the metro (€1.70) , although there is a tricky moment when one of my trolley bags gets wedged between a closing ticket gate..

I have never felt totally comfortable on the RER; there always seems to be some scary looking people around. But it's mid-morning and things are pretty quiet.

I am, rather frustratingly, routed to Frankfurt via Stuttgart and try again to change it to the more direct option. But, just as I have found to be the case before, there are plenty of seats, just nothing available for InterRail pass holders.

The enormous train is made up of two 12-coach TGV's, which will separate in Strasbourg. We are served lunch which comes in a rather natty little box. Wine, beer and coffee too, with repeats on request. As I have paid a whopping 33€ supplement for the seat reservation, I feel justified in exercising my right!

At Frankfurt, the transfer between French TGV and German ICE is a matter of simply crossing the platform. The interior design of the German Railways; ICE high speed trains remain my favourite in Europe; all wood, stainless steel and glass, with each carriage having a mix of compartments and open seating. 

I enjoy a cup of English Breakfast Tea in the very quiet carriage. I ask if I can purchase the DB china mug. The girl tells me in perfect English that it's not possible, but later returns to present me with one 'as a gift from the staff'. It's a much appreciated gesture and will make a splendid souvenir of my trip. 

In Frankfurt, there's a bit of a dilemma. My train, the Interlaken to Berlin ICE;  is showing as departing from both platforms 8 and 9 at the same time. It's rush hour, the place is packed and I can't find any handy German Railways' staff to advise me. So I gamble and, luckily, as soon as I board, find a handy German Railways' travel guide, to show me that I am on the right train. But I never did manage to find out exactly what was going on.

I have decided to break the journey at a town called Fulda, simply because ten hours is enough travelling for one day.

I am booked into the Hotel Peterchens Mondfahrt, only five minutes by taxi from the station. But it appears that my request for a big bed doesn't compute in Germany and I am shown to a room with two singles. They later find two beds pushed together, but still with two single duvets. It  transpires that a big bed and duvet is not at all common in smaller German hotels.

The hotel owner recommends the Alte Pfandhausstube restaurant, where I enjoy some hearty German soup and the almost obligatory meat and two veg main course, washed down with a beer. Pretty good value for just over €20.

I have already discovered that, this far east in Germany, there appears to be a great reluctance to embrace international tourism. Very little, even hotel and tourism websites,  is translated into English and the ability to speak any language other than German is rather lacking. I am surprised and disappointed by that and will explore the issue further when I meet with local tourism managers in Leipzig next week.

I only have the morning to explore Fulda, which is disappointing, because it turns out there is much to see. I especially enjoy the orangery, where the baroque ceiling is simply stunning. One of the staff tells me all about it in heavily American-accented English. It turns out she has spent a year on the US west coast. The cathedral is also pretty impressive with a great dome.

Back at the station, I have time to take advantage of their special offer of a cup of coffee and piece of strawberry-topped cake for just €3.33; very good too. 

I also have time to make some reservations for a day trip by train from Belleville-sur-Saone near Lyon in France, to Bern in Switzerland to get an emergency passport. . The 16-hour day breaks up my stay on a French vineyard and  is a long-day I could well do without. But it is a better option than having to cart all my luggage on the train to Bern at the end of my stay.

I am joining the Frankfurt to Dresden InterCity service, which turns out to be an old-style corridor train with compartments. Except that my reserved seat is in a busy passage stacked with luggage next to the Cafe Bar. Even worse, my seat is occupied by a German businessman who shows no interest at all in removing either himself or his bag.

So I opt to join an elderly couple in a compartment, which is fine, except they have the heating turned up full, so I swelter for nearly three hours.

More about Leipzig when I return on Monday, but the station is yet another German Railways' temple to the train. It looks stunning and I am very much looking forward to my time in the city next week.

I am surprised that the little train to Chemnitz actually has First Class seating, but, to be fair, it's no different from that in steerage. Except that it is rush hour; second class is standing room only, while everyone in the front cabin has two seats each.

I like the fact that I can see through the driver's cab to the line ahead, which I used to love when travelling to Glasgow in the old diesel multiple units of my childhood.

At Chemnitz station, my German friend Johannes greets me on the platform; his primary school teacher mother, Ina,  is waiting in her car to take me to my lodgings. I am glad he is with me, because everything at the little pension has no English translation. My room at the Art Nouveau pension is simply furnished, but spotlessly clean. I remark at the low cost of just over €30 a night, including breakfast, to which Johannes replies that prices in the area are about the cheapest in all of Germany 

He is studying chemistry at the prestigious Chemnitz Technical University and proudly shows his mum and I around the lecture rooms and other areas that affect his student life.

We head for dinner at the Turm Brauhaus, which, much to my delight, brews its own beer. The food is good hearty German fare and we have a splendid evening. So much so that Johannes' mum decides to spend an extra night in town and take us all to Dresden, the capital of Saxony, for the day.

It's less than an hour by car from Chemnitz to Dresden on one of Germany's horrifyingly fast autobahns. It doesn't take us long, once we have escaped from taking the wrong turn on foot up an emergency staircase, to find ourselves surrounded by simply stunning Baroque-style architecture. But it's almost all new, having been rebuilt after the city was reduced to rubble by bombing raids by the American and British air forces during World War 2.

Of course, such stunning surroundings means that the city is full of horribly large tour groups being dragged around by umbrella-wielding guides. Not my cup of tea at all and clearly not of many of the tourists who look utterly bored by the whole experience.

We see the main sights and then discover from a couple of costumed characters who pass by, that a Baroque Festival is being held in nearby square.

This turns out to be an absolute delight, with many people dressed up and fully participating in the atmosphere of the day. We enjoy all sorts of fruit beers and wines and typical German dishes. One is a sort of pizza called Flammkuchen, traditionally made in a wood-fired oven. We especially enjoyed  Spaetzle, which is little pieces of pasta mixed with ham, mushrooms and cheese.   There's a blacksmith working on an anvil, a carpenter making splendid chairs from German oak and a lady selling very expensive hand made brushes. 

I manage to excel at shooting a crossbow at a pretend apple target, hitting the bullseye on three occasions, with one of my other two arrows a near miss. Johannes recorded Scotland's success for posterity.

There are sadly far too few people at the event, some of the participants tell us because the organisers decided to charge a €5 entry fee. I am sad for all the people taking part, because the costumes and the atmosphere of the event are absolutely stunning.

So much do we enjoy the Baroque Festival, that we spend over three hours inside and by the time we exit, Dresden is not nearly so tourist infested as it had been.

We stroll across a splendid bridge to the other side of the Elbe to enjoy a beer while watching folk pass by in front of Dresden's stunning backdrop.

The town lost its much sought after UNESCO World Heritage Status when it was decided to built a monstrous bridge only two kilometres from the centre. An astonishing decision, by all accounts which made the city only the second place ever in the world to be stripped of its heritage status.

In the evening we have a home-cooked meal and Ina bids us farewell as she sets off in the morning for her six hour drive home.

It’s not a day for sightseeing on my final day in Chemnitz as it's pouring down with rain, but the Baedeker guide indicates  I have pretty much seen all there really is to see.

There are parts of the town which have changed out of all recognition since reunification, but others which still resemble the old East Germany. The old two-stroke Trabants are still quite common and there is clearly much to do before the area recovers fully from the many years of under investment.

There is still much in evidence of the old regime, when the town was called Karl Marx Stadt; that, possibly, is one of my biggest surprises.

Most hotels in Chemnitz offer free local transport as part of the package, not something that, as far as I am aware, was offered by my pension. But a day ticket for the buses and trams is only €3.80 for me, so we decide to take a tram into town to take Sunday lunch at the RatsKeller.

The food is fine and the cellar itself has a great feel. But both Johannes and I agree that the choice of music, which we learn is decided by the chef-proprietor, is absolutely wrong. He has gone for a peculiar mix of Europop meets country, quite inappropriate for both the general age of the clientèle and the historic setting.

We are served by a fairly frosty Frau, who, after our main course is served, seems more keen to get the tables relaid and to get home, than looking after any clients who might want more drinks and pudding. 

When dessert, after a long delay, does appear, it is well presented but let down by microwaved apfelstrudel. Five minutes in a  hot oven, surely chef Dirk?

Johannes and I agree that quality and price of the meal was OK, but the service and atmosphere at the TurmBrauhaus across the road was a lot better.

Tomorrow, the short hop to Leipzig for the InterRail conference, followed by three more days exploring what I am told is a delightful city.

Let's hope the weather improves.

Photos of the rail trip are all at:

European Rail Trip 2012

European Rail Trip 2012 Geneva to Dieppe, Monday, Day one

With my French High Speed Train due to depart Geneve Cornavin at 0612, my two alarms have been set for 5am. Why then am I wide awake at 0330? Partly excitement, mixed in with a fear of not waking up and missing the train.

So I take my time making sure that I have packed everything I will need for the trip, cramming in to my two trolley bags an extra item or two, things that I probably will not actually need, but I have had extra time to think about.

The taxi arrives outside the front door exactly on time. I ask the driver to take me to the nearest entrance to the TGV lines. He says he will drop me right outside, because Gare Cornavin is a 'bad place' and that 'I need to be careful with my belongings'.

At just before 6am, I sweep through Swiss and French border control and customs with not a soul in sight. Various security doors open automatically. Quite eery, really.

At my seat on voiture 11, I ask the 'chef de train; where the electric point is. He laughs. 'This train is from 1981, they had not thought of such things then'.

When I booked, I had been told that the train was almost full and that I was lucky to get a seat. But, bizarrely, it's very quiet, with a dozen of us crammed into one section of a carriage, with the rest of the seats vacant. The first class carriage next door has only three people in. Really odd.

We are served a continental breakfast at our seats. It's nothing special, but adequate, although the croissant is, for a French train, especially disappointing.

At 0910, only a quarter of an hour before our scheduled arrival in Paris Gare de Lyon, we grind to a halt. An announcement tells us that because of 'an incident', we will be delayed by approximately 90 minutes. Later, the chef de train comes through First Class, to explain, rather graphically, that there has been a suicide on the track and the police are collecting what's left.

We pull into a platform behind another TGV at Marolles, Seine et Marne, and are invited to get off and stretch our legs while we await permission to proceed.

The delay means that I will miss my only good connection to Dieppe, the sole reason I have got up at an unearthly hour. At Gare de Lyon, we are told to stand in a line to collect an envelope to compensate for the delay, but when I eventually get to the front, I am told that they only deal with French trains and that, as I have come from a Swiss one, I have to queue elsewhere. So I don't bother.

Outside the station, I take bus number 20 across Paris to Gare St. Lazare. As we approach l'Opera, the driver suddenly pulls across the road, stops his bus and, without explanation, tells us all to get off.

I walk to the nearest stop where, 10 minutes later, the same bus and driver appears to complete the journey. I ask the French lady next to me what the problem had been but, like me, she has no idea.

I have over an hour to wait until the train to Rouen, so I stand in another line to make bookings for the next section of the trip. When I eventually get to the front, I am electronically ordered to go to a particular counter, only to be told that I need an international desk.

There, the man hammers away at his keyboard, scratches his head, consults the Thomas Cook timetable and consults with colleagues. There are no Inter Rail seats on any route to Germany on either Thursday or Friday. If I pay full fare, there are plenty of spaces available, but nothing is available for Inter Rail pass holders.

There are two double-decker TER trains coupled together; the first is jam packed, but, as I approach the front of the second, it is mercifully quiet. I sit upstairs in a very nicely appointed First Class carriage, in glorious isolation. It appears to be no different to Second Class, but it's quiet.

At Rouen, I set off for the information desk, to discover that, despite what my timetable says, I have nearly three hours to wait for my connection to Dieppe. I enquire about booking for Germany on Thursday, any route, at any time. Laureline hammers away at her keyboard, consults colleagues, then shrugs her shoulders. Non. Pas du tout.

I repair to the nearby Metropole Bar, which has wifi, food and beer. Two hours later, I return to the station, where, armed with additional suggestions, Chantal finds me a seat to Frankfurt via Stuttgart. It's all there is, she says. But it's something.

The ancient little train to Dieppe is stiflingly hot inside, but really quiet. All these empty trains today have been really odd. The man comes to check my ticket. I ask him why, on a Monday, I have had to wait so long for a connection. Ah, he says, it's not Monday really, it's a bank holiday and thus it's a Sunday service.

That explains a lot.

The Normandy pace of life is underlined, when, at the station of Montville, a group of people are playing boules. On the actual platform.

At Dieppe, my friend Ghislaine surprises me by turning up at the station. She runs a delightful 'Chambres d'hotes' in a former convent. But it will probably be the last time I will see her at 'Villa des Capucines' because she plans to sell up and retire to Corsica.

In the evening, I have a splendid meal at the nearby 'Le Turbot'. On the €13.95 menu, there's a splendid buffet for starters, with a great variety of seafood, a great terrine and loads of salads. The main course gives several choices. I opt for the steak with saute potatoes and haricot verts, which turn out to be excellent, and finish off with a splendid piece of cheese.

After that lot, I really do need a walk round the harbour before retiring in the Mother Superior's bedroom!

In the morningI have a couple of hours to explore Dieppe, especially enjoying the displays of fromagerie and charcuterie in C' Royal in the Grand Rue. I make some enquiries at the Office du Tourisme, but the young girl on duty gives me wholly inaccurate information and, in response to one question, says she doesn't know but makes no attempt to ask any of her colleagues. But I am given a badly designed leaflet that alternates between English and Dutch, without any differentiation in typeface. Absolutely useless.

I buy a French sim card for my iPad. The terminals in the SFR shop are down, so I have to buy credit at the tabac opposite, much to the amusement of the proprietor, who waves merrily to the watching SFR staff across the street.

Ghislaine kindly takes me out for the day along the coast, where we visit the wonderful little church of St Valery at Varengeville-sur-Mer perched high above the beaches where, almost exactly 70 years ago, nearly 1000 young Canadians lost their lives in the futile Dieppe raid of WW2. In the graveyard is one single stone to mark the passing of a 21 year old Seaforth Highlander.

It's a gorgeously sunny day, but as we head along the coast to Quiberville sur Mer, a sea mist rolls in, creating a somewhat eery feel.

L'Huitriere is the only place that seems to be open for lunch, but it rather makes itself appear unwelcoming by the endless computer-generated instructions attached to every available bit of wall.

In the evening, Ghislaine and I enjoy a bottle of chilled Sancerre with some lovely saucisson and Normandy cheeses while sitting in her lovely old conservatory overlooking the delightful garden. Mme. Poucette lounged on the sofa, but did not participate.

Tomorrow, I will potter around Dieppe for the day before setting off on the long journey to Fulda in Germany, a stopping off point I have selected rather at random, my friend having advised that Frankfurt was 'just full of office blocks' and not worth visiting.

I have also been able to organise some emergency business cards for next week's rail conference in Leipzig, having lost my proper ones in the bag that was stolen at Geneva station. Luckily, I found a very helpful man, Henri Lieury, at Le Plumier, almost next door to my favourite cheese shop, Olivier's in Rue St. Jacques. I had popped in to see Benedicte, grand-daughter of the founder, but she was not at home and I almost stumbled across the sign advertising 'cartes de visite'.

The sun does indeed shine upon the righteous!

I finish the day visiting a local florist to buy some flowers for Mme Bore and then going to Dieppe's wonderful swathe of pebbled beach.

Photos of the trip can be seen at:

European Rail Trip 2012