The Herald - The Herald Magazine
South of France A grandfather-grandson trip by planes, trains and automobiles
THE question came out of the blue, as they tend to from 12-year-olds. “Gramps, would you rather live in the past or the future?” Dragging my gaze from the French countryside whipping past at 186mph, I looked at the eager young face beside me on the 10.19 Paris-Nice TGV. “That’s a great question Dylan … Let’s go and have a coffee and I’ll think about it.”
Making our way to the sleek cafe-bar on the top deck of the TGV carriage I reflected, not for the first time on this trip, that I’d perhaps underestimated the challenges involved in taking a young lad on a granddad and grandson road trip by rail to the south of France. To be fair, the concept had worked well 10 years ago when I took my youngest son Adam (then 13) by train from Glasgow to Monaco for a spot of bonding and exploration of one of my favourite parts of Europe. But maybe the passing of years had ratcheted up the mental and physical pressures involved in introducing an open, relentlessly inquisitive mind to lots of new sights and experiences. Hey-ho …
First, introductions. I’m a 68-year-old retired business consultant, with a previous past in business journalism and magazine publishing. Grandson Dylan, from Ayr, is the oldest son of my elder daughter Sasha and her husband Murray. We’ve done lots of trips in Scotland, but nothing abroad. A viewing of the 2007 comedy film Mr Bean’s Holiday, in which Rowan Atkinson turns a TGV trip from Paris into a typically chaotic adventure, provided a catalyst to get planning and booking.
We set aside five days in early April during Dylan’s Easter school holidays, and a £1,200 budget. Itinerary was to fly to Paris (cheaper and less tiring than the Virgin-Eurostar train option from Glasgow), spend two nights there with handily located friends, then catch the TGV south to Nice for three nights. Once there we’d commute by local train to Monaco.
Why drag an impressionable youngster round one of the world’s glitziest spots, with nary a playpark or McDonald’s to provide conventional entertainment? The glib answer is that it’s important to open their eyes to the opportunities and lifestyles enjoyed by the richest one per cent in our unequal global society, so they can form a more balanced view on what to do with their lives. Another, more realistic response is that it’s fun to watch the super-rich at play with their toys.
The day of departure dawned: an excited Dylan was delivered to Glasgow Airport and three hours later EasyJet deposited us at Paris Charles de Gaulle. A 40-minute trip on the local trains took us to the south side of the city where our friends live.
Dylan’s first reaction to Paris was a wideeyed “Are those AK47s?” upon seeing the armed soldiers now deployed around the city following the recent terrorist attacks. Quickly followed by “Can I have two pain-au-chocolats?” when he discovered the delights of French boulangeries. It’s encouraging to observe the reaction of a near-teenager with a healthy appetite to a Greggs-free retail food environment.
After a pleasant evening, including a trip to the 56th floor of the nearby Montparnasse Tower to get an initial impression of Paris from on-high, the next day we “did” the city to the extent allowed by the combination of 68-year-old and 12-year-old legs. That meant ascending the Eiffel Tower along with thousands of other trophy-seeking, camera-clutching tourists (not cheap at €17 to go to the top); a Bateau Mouche river sight-seeing cruise; inspecting dinosaur models in the Palais Decouverte (Science and Industry Museum); and finally standing in contemplative silence at Napoleon’s tomb in Les Invalides. But not for long. “Gramps, what’s it like to die?” It seemed time to totter off to a convenient bistro for a beer and steak frites (Gramps), and a Coke and croque monsieur (the young man).
The next morning, off to the Gare de Lyon to fight our way through several thousand other TGV customers and on to our Nice-bound service. Settling into a first-class top-deck seat, with table, Dylan
What is special about this rail journey is the winding route along the Cote d’Azur from Marseilles
observed that “there’s a lot of space”. He was quick to discover the delights of the cafe-bar in the next carriage, and found it hard to believe that we were travelling at up to 186mph while we consumed cafe au lait and croissants.
Five hours and 40 minutes, though, is a long trip for a 12-year-old, even when distracted by games of Connect4, Scrabble and yet more croque monsieurs. So the questions resumed:
“Gramps, what would you do if you won a lot of money?” Appropriately this topic led to a discussion about the delights of Monaco and what we should aim to see.
What is special about this rail journey is the winding route along the Cote d’Azur from Marseilles. Here the train has to travel
Oat more conventional speed, providing a viewing platform for such famous places as St Raphael, Frejus, Cannes and Antibes. NCE deposited safely at Nice we found our hotel (the pleasant Hotel Regence), dumped the bags and headed down to the Promenade des Anglais for a spot of people-watching and beach-combing. Beach is an ambitious word for Nice’s waterfront, comprised mainly of an uninviting, grey stony esplanade – but for Dylan it provided the freedom to get his lungs and legs working again. For me, the chance to think more about his questions.
The next morning, rain and cloud failed to dampen our ambitions and, after a brief skirmish with French rail ticket machines, we boarded an ancient TER train for the 30-minute ride to the home of the world’s most famous Formula 1 motor race. Dylan immediately pronounced Monaco to be “cool”, an adjective that made increasingly regular appearances as we explored the harbour, cluttered with millions of pounds worth of marine egotrips, plus the inevitable floating apartment block of a cruise liner.
Dylan’s pitch of excitement grew ever higher as red Ferraris, black Lamborghinis and a scattering of other motoring exotica roared past, following in the wheeltracks of Lewis Hamilton and co.
Its compactness makes exploring Monaco easy. Occupying 2.2 square kilometres and housing a permanent population of 37,600, it is the world’s second-smallest independent state. The five attractions at the top of most visitors’ check-lists are: – The harbour, which in these securityconscious days is still mostly accessible for the curious and envious; – The Musee Oceanographique, housed in a spectacular 110-year-old building on a cliffedge and featuring an excellent aquarium and a surprisingly high quality of souvenirs in its large tourist shop; – The Collection des Voitures Ancienne, comprising more than 100 historical vehicles owned and driven by the Monegasque royal family since 1896, together with some F1 machinery; – The Casino and adjacent Hotel de Paris, where the most opulent cars are usually parked, and you can linger over a €12 coffee while gazing at the rich; – The Palais Princier where generations of the ruling Grimaldi family have lived: it offers an excellent audio-guided tour of the main apartments.
We managed all this in two days and also discovered other delights, such as the Princess Grace Roseraie (rose garden), an oasis of calm located in the posh suburb of Fontvielle opposite the Columbus Hotel once owned by Scottish motor racing star David Coulthard and Glaswegian hotelier Ken McCulloch.
Finally back to Nice for a relaxed evening meal in a back-street Vietnamese restaurant, though sadly I only managed to wrest one of the delicious batter-coated shrimps from Dylan. The next morning, it was time to EasyJet ourselves from Nice to Gatwick and thence back to Glasgow.
As we fell on to the plane, I planned to relax by reflecting on what had been a frankly exhausting trip, but immensely enjoyable by seeing these beautiful parts of the world through Dylan’s young eyes. But, as I pulled my notebook out to record some thoughts …
“Gramps, where in the world would you really like to live?”