Plucky Survivors See Europe Day 63: Bilbao to La Rochelle

Had a bit of a WTF moment this morning.  I knew that I had lost a little bit of weight from all the walking and sweating and that week when I was having a hard time keeping anything inside of my body.  But I haven’t been on a scale in over two months because most hotels, rightly, don’t have them.  The one I stayed at in Bilbao did. 

I had to check the kilogram to pound conversion three times before I accepted the fact that, presuming my scale at home and this one are aligned, I have lost 21 pounds.  Now, if you’ve been following along, you’ll know that I have been eating ridiculously caloric food – pasta, pizza, steaks, pork, and anything involving cheese.  Lots and lots of cheese.  I don’t mind that the love handles have faded but ever since I caught me some of the cancer, I really didn’t have 21 pounds to lose.  Yet another reason why I’m looking forward to getting home and sitting still for a minute.  If you want to drop off chocolate, cheese, or slabs of beef, I’ll give you my door code.

I got on the road around 9 this morning, expecting a six-hour drive and I got one just not in the way I was expecting.  The main highway that I would have taken up through France has been closed because of the wildfires.  But last night, I did a little Googling and saw an official post from the Le Suis Roadage Je Ne Parle Pas Auto… or whatever the French department of roads is called… that was a guess.  It said that the highway was open. 

The trouble is I couldn’t get Google Maps or Waze to believe that.  So, it kept telling me to get off the highway and take two-lane roads, but I kept driving along with everyone else on the highway.  Google Maps freaked the F-out.  It kept thinking I was on a frontage road or in a field or a lake or anything else except the highway I was actually on because it was insisting that the road was closed.  “In 3 kilometers, turn left.  Make a u-turn.  At the roundabout… in 500 meters… what are you doing… you’re going the wrong way!  You’re going to kill someone!!!”

If I had just stuck to the plan, I probably could’ve done the drive in 5 hours, but I made a couple of tactical errors.  Around lunchtime, I saw that one of the rest stops had a KFC.  “Sold!” was my thought.  But apparently it was the thought of everyone else on the highway because the parking lot was gridlock and I lost about 25 minutes without ever getting out of the car.

I tried again at another rest stop a little further down the road that had a Burger King.  Beggers meet choosers.  Same deal.  The parking lot was packed, the line for the bathroom was out the door, and the line to order Le Whopper was 40 people deep.  I left, tungry.  That’s my new word for tired and hungry.

What I didn’t see along the way was any indication of the fire.  No smoke, no burned areas, nothing.  Looks like they have made good progress, thank goodness.

I finally got to La Rochelle around 3pm.  This is a lovely, sleepy town along the Atlantic about an hour north of Bordeaux, all whitewashed buildings and a huge harbor. 

My hotel is right on the water, and I have a terrace with a pretty killer view.

I took a walk along the promenade in search of food and got to the old town area.  Very charming and I would’ve spent more time exploring it but I was tungry, you may remember, and it was 90-something degrees.  Food and drink seemed more important than sightseeing.

I found a Mediterranean restaurant called Eila, which served a mix of Lebanese and Turkish dishes.  I went for the chicken piri piri again, which came with a toubbouleh salad and Greek potatoes with lemon and oregano.  The waiter was confused by how fast it disappeared.

On the way to the village I had passed a casino, so I went to check it out and spent a couple of hours there and walked out with more money than I walked in with, so I was happy.

I was hungry again, so I went back toward the village to a restaurant that was recommended by a friend of a friend, La Yole de Chris.  This is the less fancy version of Chef Christopher Coutanceau’s eponymous restaurant down the street that has three, count ‘em, THREE Michelin stars.

It’s very seafood focused, which I’m not a fan of, but they had specials and I went for the Angus rib eye with a side of risotto, parmesan, and peppers.  The steak was very good, but clearly not their maritime focus.  The risotto was insanely good.  I almost asked for some to go.

I took a walk back along the promenade and snapped a few more photos.  It’s quite lovely here.

Tomorrow, more driving, which is appropriate since I’m heading to Le Mans (as in the 24 Hours of).  Only three stops left in the trip!