Bonjour

My hat is currently dipped to Peter Mayle who wrote the bestseller A Year in Provence. It became clear today that to inhabit this district of France for an entire year and live to write the tale is quite a feat. I've barely been here 24 hours and very nearly didn't survive. If we'd travelled on the A50 any further I'm certain this story – however dull – would remain untold.

Three-quarters' of a bottle of local Rose later - shared with my equally shaken husband - my heart beat is almost back to normal. Thank god the wine is, as promised, heavenly. Though I suspect we'd have drunk it regardless.

We've had one of those days where travelling beyond one's neighbourhood seems categorically irrational. I wondered often today how tourism ever began, let alone flourished. To be fair, we were due a day like this. Our week in Barcelona was so smooth sailing that we really should have seen this coming. But of course we didn't.

The world wide web is a big bad place

Having caught a train from Spain to the regional town of Perpignan in France yesterday – without drama - we traipsed out to the airport this morning to collect our hire car for the next six days. Being a Sunday, and a regional town, the airport was the only place open to collect hire cars.

We had arranged our car online through an intermediary website that liaises with the major companies to secure the best available rates. Except that as far as we can tell, they don't actually deal with companies, place orders or do anything at all. At least not with any of the car companies that operate from Perpignan airport. We tried each of the four desks but to no avail.

Our name was not listed, there was no record of our order and no car waiting. Excellent. Naturally there was no contact number for our crazy intermediary, only a fax number and being a Sunday our options are pretty limited. Only one of the four companies had a car which was even available for hire. Naturally, it's available for an exorbitant rate, but stranded and being Sunday we have no choice. (Small bonus is we weren't ever charged by the website – our order just never existed - but we're not exactly ahead.)

GPS is wonderful. But slightly less wonderful when the system is inbuilt in the car and programmed in French.

This of course would pose no difficulty for anyone proficient in French, sadly no one travelling in our car is even remotely bilingual. And we cannot for the love of god change the language. If you've ever been frustrated by that automated voice barking instructions, I suggest you change the language to one you can't comprehend. It makes for lovely background noise.

Montpellier is probably a lovely place to visit

I can't say for certain because getting into the city centre proved so treacherous that after we found ourselves driving along a tramway – rather scary - we quickly took the first available turn only to discover we were in an underground tunnel linking us straight back up with the A50, out of town. I later read that Montpellier is best accessed by tram. I presume by that they don't mean accessing the tramway in a car. That certainly wasn't pleasant.

Lanes, indicators and speed limits are optional for French drivers even on major eight lane roads where the slowest cars fly by at 140km/h

After four terrifying hours discovering this, with cars whizzing by, occupying two lanes at a time, showing absolutely no regard for the territory another (very expensive hire) vehicle is desperately trying to occupy, I now opt never to travel on French roads again. At least not the A50.
The good news is we eventually arrived in La Cadiere D'Azur and it's pretty stunning.