Friday 22 August 2025
We arrived in La Rochelle – direct flight from Dublin and an absolutely tiny airport at the other end very close to the city – a recommended way to travel. Strongly against my advice, Mr. Waffle, stirred by the spirit of adventure, hired an electric car. We do not own an electric car at home. I felt the holiday would be exciting enough without adding in an electric car challenge but Mr. Waffle felt it would be an interesting experiment practically on home ground (we are very familiar with France and its ways but it is not, in fact, home ground). “Right,” I said, “I think this is crazy but if you really want to do it, you can, but you will be responsible for all of the charging and making sure it works.” These were conditions he blithely (and it will be no surprise to you to learn, ultimately foolishly) accepted.
When we took the car, we were hoping for some guidance on the electric angle but Messrs Thrifty said “There’s a charging cable in the boot, off you go.” They indicated that we might like to download an app to find out about charging locations. Ominous.
For this initial part of the holiday, only Michael was with us. We drove into La Rochelle – so far so good with the car – and took ourselves to the hotel where we were staying the first night. Michael was pleased to be alone in his hotel room.
I found La Rochelle to be delightful. Despite having been there previously a number of times, due to my remembering almost nothing, it all seemed quite novel to me. It’s an extremely bike and pedestrian friendly city and it was lovely to wander around and finally be on holidays.
We had dinner in the square opposite the town hall and began what was due to be an ongoing struggle namely, speaking in French to the French.
When we got back to the hotel that evening I discovered that despite bringing the largest bag ever on holidays I had forgotten to pack shorts, cleanser, socks and pyjamas. Oh well, as my mother used to say, we weren’t going to a desert island.
Saturday 23 August 2025
We had a lovely breakfast in a cafe in La Rochelle which Mr. Waffle found for us – credit where credit is due, it’s not all misguided electric car decisions. We then strolled around the town. We went to the market and visited the weird bunker museum where the Germans had been. Mildly interesting.
Have a look at some poorly photographed German propaganda.
I enjoyed the second paragraph of this poster announcing the liberation to the locals. “[The liberation] is due to the heroism of the fighters from our country or from our empire and the brave support of our great allies” (emphasis added). You’ve got to admire the French, I mean, they were occupied and, well, you know the Vichy regime; at best they were supporting the allies but they always bring a singular vision to this kind of thing.
There’s a lot of history available in La Rochelle. It used to be a big Protestant town and I think you know how that went down ultimately in France.
After lunch (a bit unsatisfactory, despite the range of great spots available due to hunger and timing we ended up in a fast food crêperie – least said soonest mended and all that) we went to the supermarket to stock up for our house on the island.
There’s a big bridge linking the island to the mainland but it is €16 over and back so you wouldn’t want to be going every day.
We stayed in a delightful little town called La Flotte. The airbnb was nice with a really lovely garden but slightly over-engineered (himself was very handy – lots of complex gimmicks). It also had fish, guinea pigs, two cats and chickens. On the plus side, this meant lots of fresh eggs but it was a lot of livestock to keep up with. “You chose to stay in a house with animals,” said Madame cheerfully. At one level this is true, the livestock were not a secret, but at another level, we booked late and took what we could get. Mr. Waffle yet again impressed me with his knowledge of weird French stuff by asking if Linky the cat was named after the electricity smart meter they use in France. He was not.
Sunday 24 August, 2025
Leaving Michael to bond with the house, Mr. Waffle and I strolled into town to look for breakfast stopping off to hire bikes on the way. We found a breakfast place on the seafront with a couple of punters sitting out front. “Could we have breakfast?” We could not “service terminé”. Honestly 9.30 seemed a little early to have finished the breakfast service. Was there anywhere else we could get breakfast? The waiter gave an irate shrug and gestured onwards. I was glad to see that the legendary French rudeness had not abated while I had been away. We went around the corner and found ourselves in the centre of the town (lots of breakfast options) which was built around a charming little harbour.
We went on to mass. Like all French masses, it was practically endless. I was struck, however, by how many children there were. In contrast to mass in Dublin where hair is grey, white and fair, there were dark heads everywhere and lots of the middle aged as well as children. Interesting. Like La Rochelle, the island had been a Protestant stronghold which (rather unwisely) got help from the English so was turned back to Catholicism with extreme prejudice as they say. There was a bell given to the church by Cardinal Richelieu to celebrate this turn of events.
After mass we went to the market which, in this touristy place, weirdly ran every day. We got some lovely fruit. Fruit is so much nicer in France than at home; I guess it has less far to travel. I remember having nectarines and peaches in France when we went on holidays there with my parents in the 70s and being amazed how delicious they were. I feel that there were no nectarines in Cork in the 70s but can that be right? And the difference between a hard peach in Cork and a soft, juicy one in France was vast. Despite the improvements in supply chain, it still feels that French fruit is much, much better.
I went to the butcher to get lunch and saw a large canvas on the wall. It featured Cork man Ronan O’Gara who is the coach for the La Rochelle rugby team (and if you haven’t seen this video of him exhorting his troops in…French, you haven’t lived) and a past pupil of the same school my father and brother attended. A home away from home. I had a brief chat about it with the man at the cash register – big fan – also getting an opportunity to explain that I was not in fact English (as George Bernard Shaw famously said when someone asked whether he was English “au contraire”). As we were to discover, Île de Ré seems to be extremely popular with the English middle classes and to the French eye, the Irish and the English are indistinguishable; an exhausting period of correction beckoned.
After lunch I had a swim in the glorified paddling pool in the back garden; not unpleasant, I must concede. Refreshed, we cycled back into town, Michael perched slightly precariously on my back carrier until we got to the bike hire place where we picked up a bike for him too. The island is the most cycling friendly place I have ever been on holidays and is criss-crossed with a huge network of segregated cycle lanes which were used by a range of people of absolutely all ages. The towns are set up around bikes and pedestrians and there is hardly any driving. I was really struck that the cars we did see were what I would consider normal sized cars not the ludicrously enormous SUVs which are so much a feature in Dublin (I speak as the owner of an enormous station wagon here so I understand that I am part of the problem).
We decided to cycle to St Martin de Ré. This was a terrible decision; yes, the cycling infrastructure was great but it was like cycling in an oven.
The town was really pretty but I was far too hot to appreciate it properly. We did wander the quaint streets of the old town and they were quaint but we had to stop more than once for a sustaining drink.
I made the guys climb up a tower. I love a tower with a view. I was not disappointed: great views.
I also took the opportunity to visit the pharmacy. I had a mosquito bite on my hand which had swollen up in an alarming manner. The island is basically one big marsh so mosquitos are inevitable. I am not sure that the pond in the back garden of the Airbnb was much of a help either. I was not the first mosquito bite that pharmacist had seen and almost before I had finished speaking she had slapped three items on the counter: a steroid cream; anti histamines and a homeopathic remedy. Had she pointed out to me that one of these items was homeopathic, I would have left it behind me but there you are. I would have thought they would have had pretty strong rules on this in France but, if so, they were observed in the breach.
Suitably recovered we braced ourselves for the homeward journey but we were pleasantly surprised to discover that it was only about 15 minutes back the house.
Monday 25 August, 2025
We went on the obligatory lighthouse visit. Although the lighthouse on the far north of the island was perfectly reachable by segregated bike lane, it was far and we were slightly scarred by our very toasty experience the previous day. It’s called Phare des Baleines (lighthouse of the whales) and in the tat shop outside there was a whale shaped butter dish that I came very close to buying. But I resisted on the grounds that I have two butter dishes already and how many does one person need but still I slightly lament it. It was nice in the standard lighthouse way.
It boasts a view of an older lighthouse which is novel.
We had lunch just beside the lighthouse. A touristy spot and rather slow but not unpleasant.
After a swing by the supermarket we went back to the house to find that there was a power cut which meant that we couldn’t put the blinds up. Sub optimal.
As we were sitting in the gloom, I managed to chip a tooth. Alas. However, due to my depressingly close involvement with my dentist, I had an appointment already booked for the week we returned. Nonetheless unsatisfactory.
I am pleased to report that the electricity came back reasonably quickly and we were able to get out again. We had a lovely cycle into town and a walk around. It was a really charming little town.
Oysters are big locally and are available 24 hours but I am not sure getting oysters from a dispenser can ever be a good idea.
We got slightly lost on the way home and enjoyed an exciting cycle through the forest. It’s all an adventure. I’m not sure whether it was there or elsewhere that a daring mosquito bit me just below my eyebrow. You have to take your chances, if you holiday in a marsh, I guess.
In other disappointing electricity news, our solar power app (very exciting material as you will know, if you have ever been bored by someone who has had solar panels installed) failed. We rang home where my brother and middle child were living together in a sort of odd couple arrangement but nothing untoward seemed to have happened (I can exclusively reveal that we rebooted the internet when we got home and it all worked fine again).
Tuesday August 26, 2025
This is the unwelcome sight that greeted your correspondent in the morning. Tactless members of the family said that they didn’t notice anything. I felt like Quasimodo (“I’m ugly, ugly“). It was quite sore too. Happily, I was in a location where wearing sunglasses was appropriate. In case you didn’t know (and why would you?), the symbol of the island is a donkey in trousers – traditionally, they put donkeys legs in trousers to stop them being bitten by mosquitos. I have to say that I shouldn’t have been surprised by my mosquito issues, the signs were there.
Mr. Waffle and I went out to breakfast overlooking the harbour which was very nice and I was able to observe the English middle classes at play from behind my dark glasses. Regular readers will know how much I like to complain so I enjoyed telling Mr. Waffle about my sore thumb until he observed that I was “the only person ever to have got gamer’s thumb from doing online Sudoku”. A very depressing and entirely accurate insight.
After lunch we cycled to Ste Marie de Ré and had a lovely swim at Montamer. The tide was extremely far out when we arrived but came in super quickly. I went in first and I came out and warned the others about the fast-advancing tide. The beach was kind of stony but Mr. Waffle parked his shoes on rocks a good way from the shore. Nevertheless when he emerged, a good Samaritan was holding them up in the air having rescued them from the advancing tide. Exciting stuff. We had a restorative cup of tea and ice cream in the town before heading back. The town was on the opposite wilder side of the island and I decided that all the nice towns were those facing the mainland built around harbours based on…nothing. Great was my rage later in the holiday when I discovered that one of the “plus beaux villages de France” was only a little way further up the coast. Next time.
We had dinner at home; something eggy for me. The hens were busy producing 2-3 delicious fresh eggs a day but I was the only one in the house who liked eggs. A challenging time. Have a view of the garden with the hen run in the distance.
Wednesday August 27, 2005
Michael peered at my eye in the morning and said, “If I saw this, I would never think it was a mosquito bite; I would think it was some kind of deformity.” Thank you, Michael, great news.
Another breakfast behind dark glasses in la Flotte before cycling to the ruined abbey. It was mercifully a bit overcast. The abbey was quite like a lot of abbeys we have at home but you know, grand.
We went on to the Fort de La Prée which, as a tourist offering I would say is still in development. Vauban who did the more impressive fortifications in St Martin apparently called it a “fort d’operette” which is perhaps a bit harsh but you get the picture.
Cycling around the island, it is really very beautiful and all of the buildings are tasteful and similarly decorated. It is apparently “hyper reglementé”. I noticed that there were no solar panels and apparently they have only very recently been permitted. Shutter shades are all the same. I saw this in the market showing the range of acceptable colours.
I am a bit ambivalent about this. On one level it is lovely and really delightful but it feels a bit constrained and unreal. Weirdly, it reminded me of the Lake District in England where strong planning rules are also a feature. I mean, what we have in Ireland (bungalow blitz anyone?) is not good but I am not sure that this is the solution either.
Michael and I had a quiet afternoon at the house while Mr. Waffle spent two hours looking for a place to charge for the car. The Lidl had two slots but one was full and one broken; the Intermarché’s slots were broken (he asked inside, do you know how desperate he must have been to actually ask?) and the chargers in the Leclerc wouldn’t fit the car. He signed up to the Chargemap app. They took €14 from him and gave him the unwelcome information that the physical card was now on its way to Dublin. He came home muttering furiously that maybe another app was the solution. Disturbing all round.
The child in Dublin repeating an exam under sub-optimal conditions (Uncle – agent of chaos in the house, painter in the house, parents away) did fine. Relief all round.
Mr. Waffle disappeared for another 2 hours. He had a new app and he found somewhere to charge it but the car charged very slowly; only a couple of percent over 30 minutes. Honestly it was not going well.
Stay tuned for further updates.
