I managed an early start, ever mindful of what I had to do this morning.  I was the first down to breakfast and had to content myself with black coffee because there wasn’t any milk yet.  I then brought my cases down and paid the man behind the desk, (him of the deep voice).  I told him of the directions I had been given to get to the airport (Autoroute du Sud until Guérland and then follow signs to Geneva) and he of course came straight back with a much better route!  It involved cutting straight across Lyon, across both rivers and through the tunnel at Croix Rousse.  It did seem more direct and I decided I’d give it a go.  It wasn’t raining (although it was spitting a bit) and it seemed daft to bring the car to the hotel and struggle to park it while I put the case in, so I decided to carry/roll the bags to the car park. I got nearly half way when I remembered I still had my room key in my pocket! Life just isn’t fair!  

The car park cost 39 € (nearly as much as a night at the hotel!) but they accepted my debit card, which saved me some cash.  (Thank God I wasn’t relying on travellers’ cheques).

I set off, following the receptionist’s directions, and although it could have been worse, it really was a journey from hell.  I was desperately trying to get it right; follow signs, avoid red lights, maintain correct lanes, remember to drive on the right, avoid bus lanes, try not to get diverted onto a motorway for Marseille etc.  Actually, I managed to get all of those wrong at some stage - It was a little tense!  Then the rain started coming down again, and the signs started to get confusing and the rush hour was in full spate and then I noticed that I was going round somewhere I had been before, and then I went round again before I could get the right exit, which immediately turned into the Toll entrance for the motorway to Geneva, and I couldn’t work out how to work the machine, so I blocked the toll booth while I dithered (all the while fretting that it would be at least Bourg en Bresse before I would be able to get off the motorway again and I would have missed my plane by then!)  

By the time I found myself on a clear road with a clear sign to the Airport (20kms straight ahead) I had a headache from hell and my shoulders were killing me. (I had even managed to open one of the back windows while trying to operate the toll machine and then convinced myself that I had another puncture because of the strange tyre noises I could hear.  I stopped on the hard shoulder to check the wheels and it was a huge relief to find that there was no problem.

After that, all was hiatus.  There was a petrol station a the airport, so I was able to fill up.  I found the Avis compound first time.  There was no problem at all about the punctured tyre, and I found myself in the airport concourse, all ready to fly at 9.45am – well ahead of schedule.   There followed coffees, excursions to shops and general time-killing until I was able to hand in my baggage at 11.45am and I then went to find some food before take-off.  (Poulet rôti aux herbes et frites and a quart de Beaujolais for old time’s sake).

The plane was an Embraer again, and once again I had a window/aisle seat.  Take-off was on-time and the flight passed very quickly while I caught up on the news with an English paper and a French magazine.  The hostesses came round with plastic coffee and asked if I would like a sandwich.  I replied “No thank you, I had one on the flight out,”  and I could tell by her face that she knew exactly what I meant.

And so I returned to England.  Sammy was nearly there to meet me.  (Some essential last-minute shopping at the airport had called her away), but I saw her in the distance receive the text message I had sent her on arrival (on her NEW phone!)

I drove back to Halton, making all the usual mistakes (looking for the gear stick on the right, looking out of the driver’s window when I wanted the rear-view mirror etc.)  but by the time we had arrived home I was fairly used to being on the wrong side of the road again.  I had also heard all of Sammy’s ring-tones and was starting to get used to the sound of English again.  All I need to do now is to shake off an appalling headache and stiff neck, which dates from this morning’s rush-hour in Lyon.

It has been a superb fortnight.  I managed to do pretty much all of the things that I hoped to do and a few more besides.  I have re-discovered what it is like to feel a part of France again and I have been back to many places that meant a great deal to me 30 years ago.  My only regret was that I was unable to meet up again with friends from those days.  Over the years, we lost contact and I spent a lot of time in Roanne scanning faces in hope.  I probably wouldn’t have recognised them anyway after all this time.  I’m sure they wouldn’t have recognised me!

Anyway, my French and my accent have improved enormously over the two weeks, and I am able to chat happily without translating and I can confuse people over my nationality again. It seems very strange to be back in England, but I shall enjoy spending some time organising the photographs I have taken (nearly 1,000!) and re-living some of the best moments.   

Next stop Amalfi in only 10 weeks!    :o)

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