In which we acknowledge that trains are not very flexible in either timing or destination. Unlike a cruise missile. To the average reader our immediate dilemma may not be readily apparent. The French Riviera is surprisingly enough a train backwater. It’s pretty much five hours to everywhere and all in the local. Stops every seven minutes in towns with glorious French names lacking only people and sights to see. They always also have a church and a memorial to the glorious youth that were sacrificed in the Great War(s). Having seen enough of this we elected to rent a car. Not just any car.
We’ve set off with this noble steed as our ride. What could possibly be wrong? Another confession. We picked up the car last Thursday. It’s Tuesday as I write this. Manual transmission diesel Fiat. Absolutely foolproof I think.