Eventually, every road trip turns north.
We left mid-morning, beginning the long run back toward home, around 350 miles up the A8, A7 and A6. It’s not the prettiest route, mostly major toll roads, but it’s direct, fast and ideal when your focus is covering distance rather than sightseeing.
Stops were brief — just the occasional aire for coffee and something quick to eat — as we wanted to reach Beaune while there was still daylight.
A Very Unexpected Coffee Stop
One rainy stop just outside Lyon turned into one of the most unexpected highlights of the entire trip.
We’d pulled into an aire to refuel both car and driver. As we walked inside we noticed people dressed as Star Wars characters, unusual, but not the strangest thing we were about to see.
Standing at the self-service coffee machine, Deb nudged me and quietly said, “Is that Who i think it is?”
“Probably not” i replied.
“I think it is” she said
“Well go and ask him” … so she did.
At this point, the man on the other side of the machine realised he’d been recognised and smiled at us.
Before I knew it, Deb had gone around the coffee machine and started chatting to none other than the 80’s icon, Rick Astley.
Yes — the Rick Astley. The voice behind Never Gonna Give You Up and a catalogue of Stock Aitken Waterman classics, standing in a French motorway service station on a grey May afternoon.
Our son’s first ever record purchase was “Whenever You Need Somebody”, so naturally I had to text him immediately. His reply — unusually fast — simply said: “Proof.” Deb told Rick this, who laughed and said, “Go on then, let’s have a photo.”
Apparently he’d been holidaying in the South of France as well and was heading home. He even claimed he was travelling with Jason Donovan — which we’re still not entirely convinced about.
Of all the service stations in all of France, we just happened to walk into the one where Rick Astley was grabbing a coffee. Classic.
Beaune: A Familiar Stop
After saying our goodbyes — and with a photo my wife will treasure forever — we carried on north through steadily worsening rain, eventually arriving in Beaune late afternoon.
Our hotel was chosen mainly for location and secure parking. It was fine — comfortable enough — although despite signs proudly pointing toward a bar, we later discovered there wasn’t actually one. Slightly frustrating after a long day on the road.
Beaune itself more than made up for it.
Located in the heart of Burgundy wine country, Beaune is known as the unofficial capital of Burgundy wines and is famous for its beautifully preserved medieval centre. The town’s most recognisable landmark is the Hospices de Beaune, a 15th-century charitable hospital with its distinctive colourful tiled roof, now one of the region’s most iconic buildings.
Like Langres earlier in the trip, Beaune feels compact and walkable — the sort of place best explored slowly.
We wandered through the streets, stopped for good coffee, and followed the unexpected sound of bagpipes down a side street where the “Burgundy Pipers” were performing outside the cathedral. We stayed listening for a while before moving on to what I’d been looking forward to most — dinner.
The Return of the Beef Bourguignon
We’d visited Beaune once before and remembered a small brasserie called L’Écrit Vin, which served what I still maintain is the best Beef Bourguignon I’ve ever eaten.
Dinner did not disappoint.
Baked camembert starters were followed by my long-awaited bourguignon and ravioli for Deb, finished off with French crêpes. Alongside it we drank a couple of Monaco beers — a light, refreshing mix of lager, lemonade and a splash of grenadine syrup, slightly sweet but perfect after a day’s driving.
The plan had been to return to the hotel for a nightcap… except, as mentioned earlier, there was no bar. So back out we went to find a couple of beers before finally calling it a night.
The Final Drive Home
The following morning we grabbed pastries and coffee from a local boulangerie and hit the road for the final leg north.
There’s not much to report about the drive itself — motorway miles ticking away — although I did take one final opportunity on a long empty stretch to see what the little Porsche could really do.
Let’s just say it didn’t disappoint, and the only thing limiting top speed was the increasingly firm scolding from my co-pilot. Had I been caught the fines would have been eye-watering, so it was very much a brief moment of curiosity rather than anything sensible — and definitely not something I’d ever attempt back home.
By late afternoon we were back at Calais and soon boarding Le Shuttle. Thirty-five minutes later we rolled back onto UK soil… and ten minutes after that found ourselves crawling through roadworks.
After hundreds of miles of smooth French roads, the contrast was immediate. The M25 was choked, the A1 wasn’t much better, and the M1 felt like one long queue.
We finally pulled onto the driveway around 10pm, exhausted but happy.
It says a lot that the most stressful part of the entire trip wasn’t the mountain roads, the long motorway days or Monaco traffic — it was the final stretch from Folkestone back to Derby.
Route Napoléon & Gorges du Verdon: The Best Driving Day of Our South of France Road Trip
