“When in Rome” is fast becoming Duncan’s favourite saying of our trip. Each time we are unsure if we should do something Duncan pipes up with “Well, when in Rome…?”. In true Ron Burgundy style, this often makes no sense, but our decision to make a spontaneous trip to the French beach side town of Arcachon to see Jamiroquai perform was one of those “When in Rome”, moments.

The trip from Lourdes to Arcachon via Pau (to pick up the tickets) took two days, much to the detriment of Ed’s cheap-arse tent. We arrived at a random campsite roughly half way to Arcachon, which strangely boasted ensuite tent sites! The evening started wonderfully as the three of us cooked up some pasta and watched a below par bootleg version of the latest Transformers movie on our little laptop. We all turned in rather early with Ed making comment that his tent is proving “quite a little find”. Rookie mistake!

3am and the big summer storm hit. We woke to rain pelting our little tent. We were sweet and cosy in our little home, Ed – not so much. “I’m going to bail”, was what I heard as Ed made the dash from his not so water proof tent to our car (which was parked outside the campsite due to some strange regulations). Poor Ed (6″3′ of him) squeezed into the back seat of our little Peugeot for a not so comfortable night’s sleep.

Next morning we surveyed the damage, miraculously Ed’s tent seemed to be more saturated than anything else around, almost like it collected the water once it poured through. Ironically the groundsheet was fantastically waterproof, only meaning that Ed’s tent contained a small lake.

With Ed’s tent now no longer habitable we had to find alternative accommodation. Arriving at Arcachon we soon became acquainted with ‘European summer prices’. Nothing within a 20km radius of Arcachon was below 100 Euro; even the Ibis was advertising the ‘special’ price of 122 Euros for their room.

With an extra 2 nights up our sleeve before the Jamiroquai concert, we opened the map…where to? A familiar looking name popped up – Cognac – like as in the drink, Remy Martin and Hennessey. The thought of alcohol on a rainy day was too good to ignore. Two hours later we were in Cognac and loving our spontaneous travel decision, especially as the accommodation price were severely cheaper. We spent a night sharing a hotel room with two beds (only unfortunate thing was that there was only a curtain to the world smallest bathroom. The room provided not much privacy for the 3 of us, hence the reason to allot the downstairs lobby toilet as the ‘poo toilet’.

We hit two cognac houses the next day. Hennessey and a little family run cognac provider. Hennessey was what you would expect, very ritzy, and touristy; but amazing to walk through the hollowed barrel rooms full of Hennessey cognac destined for overseas (we learnt that the French do not drink Cognac, preferring Scotch. (96% of all cognac is exported overseas; mainly to the US and more so, China). Our second Cognac house was as far removed from the glitz and showiness of Hennessey, tuck away in the countryside we went into our little family run Cognac house and stumbled out 3 hours later! Christophe, who was the owner’s son and the chief ‘blender’, showed us a wonderfully ‘back-of-the-house’ tour Cognac vineyard. We learnt such things as 97% of the grapes that are picked are not used in the final product (due to the distilling process). We tasted Cognac that was distilled in 1968, 1985 and even in 1979 (year that I was born)! We a new found respect and appreciation of Cognac, and are now very much looking forward to swilling of bottle of Cognac from Christophe in the wintery Canberra months… preferably in front of a fire… wearing a smoking jacket…. and a cravat.

Having found affordable accommodation (probably closer to Bordeaux than Arcachon) we arrived back to prepare ourselves for the Jamiroquai concert. The weather was lousy. Really lousy. So much so that it made the news. For southern coastal France in the middle of summer it was pathetic. Duncan and Ed ventured outside to suss out the concert location, I had a blissful day stretched out on our hotel bed watching chick flicks while the rain pelted at the window – these are the sort of things that you miss most about home!

We drove in to Arcachon, drinking our Jamiroquai branded French beer, pulled over on the side of the freeway and started walking. Luckily the weather kind of cleared for the concert which was held in a large outdoor amphitheatre. It was awesome and fun! Duncan and I had regretted not seeing Jamiroquai when he was touring Australia a couple of years ago, but things happen for a reason and we now we count ourselves very lucky to say that we danced and sang with him in the south of France – yay!!

We dropped off Ed, our travel buddy for the last week, with a very sad goodbye (when were we going to see him next – who knows???) at Bordeaux airport the next morning. Upon leaving the airport Duncan showed that he was fast becoming a European when he abused a gypsy trying to wash our windscreen. She ignored Duncan’s polite-ish “No’s” and continued to use the old trick of washing our windscreen anyway. With her arm outstretched over our bonnet with squeegee in hand, Duncan turned on our windscreen washer, spayed her with soapy water and then almost took her arm off as her squidgy became stuck in our window wipers. The people in the car next to us nodded their approval. J

We then took advantage of another “When in Rome” moment from Duncan, and made our way to St Emillion to pick up a bottle or two of 2009 Bordeaux (word to the wise – cracker of a year in Bordeaux!) which harvested and pressed at the time we were last there for our honeymoon – ahhh so romantic.

With yet another bottle of wine to send home, we made our way towards to the coast and the Spanish border on the southerly path that would eventually see us in Madrid for our final days in Europe. During this southerly path France and Spain seemed to sense our looming departure and pulled out all the stops for us.

St Jean de Luz in France (just) gave us an opportunity to familiarise ourselves with the Basque culture and the very different Basque sport Pelote (think guys with large lacrosse pole, with a basket hooked scoop, on a court the length of a soccer pitch, playing a game of squash at 300km/h). We had much fun cheering on our chosen team, not really knowing the rules, but learning when to ooh and when to ahhh when everyone else did.

The next morning we were treated to one last exceptional example of French hospitality. At our campsite in St Jean de Luz we met a French couple who had recently done a big trip around the world also. After a 5 minute conversation with Duncan, we had been invited to lunch (beside their little tent) and treated us to a fantastic selection of French food, carefully chosen by them to demonstrate all the regions of France. We had a glorious four hours, chatting and swapping travelling notes while enjoying an extremely delicious meal cooked on a camp stove. This was the perfect way to have our very last meal in France…mwahhhh!

San Sebastian, it also could have its own blog entry (but my fingers are getting sore trying to type this on the plane to USA 😉 ) . Duncan and I want to spend more time there. 24 hours is just not enough to experience the culinary delight that is San Sebastian. Lonely Planet raves about San Sebastian, but it really doesn’t do it justice. We had an all night degustation of some of the most amazing, delicious and spectacular looking tapas that we have ever seen; all of which for 2 euro?? Duncan and I lost ourselves down the narrow streets of San Sebastian and had to drag ourselves away at midnight so we could make the last bus to our campsite. San Sebastian, we have made a promise, we will be back!!

Still on the culinary southern route to Madrid next stop was Segovia. For our last night on our European tour (a couple of nights left in Madrid, but it was our last night in our little tent and on the road), Duncan and I treated ourselves to roast suckling pig (yep, little baby pig) beneath the 2000 year old Segovia Roman Aqueduct. I mean right below with the Aqueduct looming 30 metres above our head. How had this survived for 2000 years, when no mortar or any way of fastening had been used between all of the large granite rocks??!! We pinched ourselves several times, and licked our lips several times more. We wouldn’t be able to eat beneath this kind of history next week!

We arrived in Madrid, our last stop before our next stop to US and Canada. We were starting to get emotional, we were going to miss the tapas, how were we going to cope without siesta (French opening hours we could do without)?

Our emotional state was helped by meeting up with a family friend in Madrid. Gemma Derrick had lived in Madrid since August last year and showed us all the tapas hotspots as well as very creatively incorporating a historical walking tour of Madrid as we hopped around. This visit gave Duncan the opportunity to also rediscover another side to Madrid as his first impressions as a broke backpacker was tainted by lack of funds. Gemma’s boyfriend Rueben also helped by adding in the Spaniards view, and between the two we were shown restaurants and educated on Spanish royalty and politics, even catching up with the Indignados that were currently protesting in the centre of Madrid (pretty sure we were on TV).

Our last night in Spain and Europe was spent of course tapas hopping, a little low key as we were flying out the next day, however it was a very fitting end to our European leg. We will miss France, Spain and Portugal, especially all the wonderful people that we met along the way. You all have a very special place in our hearts and we look so very much to repaying the favour when you come and visit us in Australia!

Au revior France! Adiós Spain! Despedida Portugal!