Fiat Punto

Wheels. Pretty much taken for granted.  No longer by us however, given how tricky it is to get on the road in France.  And how important.  France, unlike Australia, has many, many villages and towns sprinkled liberally throughout the countryside, within a few minutes of each other,  each with their own markets, personalities, attractions and appeal.  It's possible to spend a lifetime encountering the villages of France, but impossible without a car!  Having spent a small fortune on hire cars last year, this time round we were keen to earn our independence from Rent-a-Car.  But how?  To buy and insure a car requires the all important utility bill (the golden key to many doors in France) and it's terribly difficult to get a utility bill without references, referrals and a track record of renting a home, or owning your own home.  Problematic.  A long and expensive relationship with Rent-a-Car loomed on the horizon.

Holly to the rescue!  Lurking in the garden of her country house, quietly taking root, was a much loved but ever so slightly neglected Fiat Punto Cabriolet.  A car I'd known and loved in London as it shuttled us from bar to club to party, night after memorable night. It even knew its own way home from Soho House!  Why not rescue, revive and restore the little treasure and drive it down to its new life bistrot hopping in the South of France?  Why not indeed.

 

Thus one chilly Saturday in early April, weilding spades, we dug the car out of the garden.  We heaved up the bonnet and jump started the car.  It started first time!  That earned her the reward of a new battery.  The new battery helped the Fiat limp to the car wash for a spruce up.  Life was improving for the Fiat, but sadly we had to leave her in Samois and head South to take up our new rental home in Montpellier. 

Holly took over and found out what was needed to pass the Controle Technique, the equivalent of the Safety Certificate in Aus or the MOT in the UK.  An eye  watering assortment of dings, scrapes, knocks and bangs to a vehicle's body work are considered compulsory in France, and in this regard the Punto passed with flying colours.  What was required was a new motor for the windscreen wipers, a couple of light bulbs for side lights, two new tyres - nothing too outrageous - after four years of taking root, anything was possible!  These things fixed up, a full service and the Fiat was ready to go. 

 We took a train to Paris, enjoyed a fabulous musical showcase by the talented M. Philippe Barbot, drank some wine and retired early ready to drive the seven or eight hours from Samois (well positioned one hour to the South of Paris) to Montpellier. 

 
A nightmare journey ensued where we left Samois bang on time and avoided heavy traffic and scary weather, only to realise my lap top had been left behind, sitting in the hallway in Paris..... No option but to turn back and retrieve it.  This represented a Hideous Set Back.  THIRTEEN hours later, after nearly coming to blows several times in assorted lay-bys, wrestling with folding maps and Sat Nav (twat nav...)  and going around in circles near Nemours, we were still on the road.  We limped in to Montpellier at 1 a.m., having driven through some spectacular countryside - including the amazing Millau viaduct - in the dark. 

Not a good start for the new life au sud for the Fiat Punto Cabrio. However, things have continually looked up for us all, and she has settled in very nicely to the long hot days, the drives through vineyards and rolling foothills, the trips to the boulangerie and local markets -  and is a big hit with Roly and Pepper, who love the wind in their fur as we bomb along at 130km looking for a new adventure. The locals may take us for Parisians due to our proudly Parisian number plates and give us the cold shoulder, but we don't care, we'd rather be shunned than grounded.  Thank you, Holly, for the Fiat we call Freedom!