A merde of a day

Let me preface this blog by saying, there are so many things I adore about France. The food, the wine, the countryside, the cities...it truly is a magical place. Well, most of it is. The same just cannot be said for driving en France. Excited to be on the road again, we rolled onto the NorfolkLine ferry at Dover for a smooth and seasick-free transfer to Dunkerque (if you're making this trip, Norfolkline is amazing, easy on the wallet and really nice on board). On board we procured all sorts of useful things required by law to drive in France. Things like first aid kits, red triangle thingies that have lights on that you put on the roadside if you break down (this doesn't work for mental breakdowns unfortunately, I know because I had lots), a GB sticker for our car (yes, compulsory, not simply patriotic), even special stickery things you adhere to your headlights so your British car doesn't dazzle those poor French drivers. Phew. After spending a good portion of our daily budget on "car things" we felt sure nothing could daunt us when we hit the French roads. Forgetting a few minor things of course like, well, driving on the other side of the road for example. Yes, that little matter of keeping right. Especially challenging on roundabouts. Which brings me to my next point. There must have been a sale on roundabouts when France was making its roads as they are literally everywhere, with the most bizarrely and unhelpfully positioned road signs attached. At least we had a fair bit of practice negotiation these in there hundreds. Then of course the small matter of the speed limit - a mere 130kms an hour which, might I add is not exactly adhered to. With a little Corolla stuffed full of huge suitcases, two rather heavy humans, a bike, and all our safe-driving-in-France paraphenalia, 130 was a tad of a stretch - the poor little thing vibrating like a washing machine on spin cycle while thousands of Renault Meganes and Audis zoomed past furiously.
Let's not forget the lorries. Billions of them it would seem, which meant we got very good at overtaking very quickly - even if I did have to adopt the emergency brace position when we did (don't worry, at least I wasn't driving). Ooh, I'm leaving out the bit about roadworks in France. Just block of the whole street, go on, nobody will need the main road in town today, or the next week perhaps, who cares if it's the street their hotel is on? They'll find another one. Oh, and how about driving into a quaint little town with ribbon-thin cobbled streets at peak hour while still remembering to drive on the right, avoid pedestrians, go through a few hundred more roundabouts, the usual. Now...where was the part about being on holidays being easy and carefree? Hmm?
Eleven and a half - yes count them - eleven and a half hours later, we made it to our destination. Sure, we weren't speaking to eachother, we were both drenched in sweat and we'd been well and truly lost a good 3 or 4 times, but we made it to Epernay, capital of the Champagne region. And where better to celebrate?

Aaagh, another blockage!