Sometimes a road trip is about slow travel, scenic detours, and gentle meandering.
And sometimes it’s about getting across half of France as fast as humanly possible because the Mediterranean is calling your name.

We pointed the van south, merged onto the toll roads, and let France blur past the windows like a very large, very pretty screensaver.

Toll Roads: France’s Fast‑Track Button

Say what you like about French toll roads — expensive, soulless, suspiciously smooth — but they do one thing exceptionally well, they get you places fast.

We cruised down the country like we were in a very slow, very polite version of The Fast and the Furious.

Except instead of Nitrous Oxide, we had coffee. And instead of Vin Diesel, we had a sat nav who occasionally forgot what a road was.

La Voulte-sur-Rône

A Chilled‑Day… With a Surprise Siren

Our first stop was La Voulte‑sur‑Rhône, a quiet little town on the river and a perfect place for a chilled day.

We parked up in the Aire, stretched our legs, and settled into the peaceful rhythm of doing absolutely nothing.

And then, at 14:00 (exactly), the peace shattered.

A siren went off.

Not a gentle “testing the system” siren.
Not a friendly “don’t worry, this is normal” siren.
No — this was a full‑volume, end‑of‑the‑world, grab‑your-loved‑ones siren.

For a moment we genuinely thought:

• a dam had burst
• a meteor was incoming
• or France had finally run out of baguettes

Turns out it was just the monthly test of the national warning system.

We continued with our ponderings as it nothing happened. (after googling it of course)

Back on the Toll Road

Southbound and Determined

After our chilled day (and near‑death‑by‑siren experience), we hopped back onto the toll roads and continued our mission to reach the Mediterranean.

The van purred.
The sun shone.
The toll booths emptied our wallet with ruthless efficiency.

Aramon

Our second stop was Aramon, a charming little town on the Rhone with narrow streets, warm stone buildings, and a relaxed vibe that says:

“You’re nearly in the south now.”

We wandered through the old streets, admired the church, and soaked up the sunshine like lizards on holiday.

Then we found Pub 16, which had:

• very cold beer
• outdoor seating
• sunshine

We sat, we sipped, we people‑watched, and we congratulated ourselves on our excellent life choices.

The Bull Ring That Wasn’t What We Expected

While exploring Aramon, we stumbled across a bull ring.

At first we thought:
“Hang on… aren’t we a bit far from Spain for this?”

But French bull rings are different.

Instead of the Spanish style — dramatic capes, matadors, and a general sense of impending doom — the French version is more like:

• athletic humans
• nimble bulls
• and a game of tag in “who can dodge who the fastest”

It’s less gladiatorial showdown and more extreme tag with horns.

We didn’t see a show, but the arena itself was fascinating — a slice of Provençal culture tucked quietly into a sleepy riverside town.

Southbound Once More

Mediterranean, Here We Come

After two days of toll‑road sprinting, riverside wandering, siren surviving, and bull‑ring discovering, we climbed back into the van for the final push south.

The air grew warmer.
The landscape grew drier.
And the promise of the Mediterranean grew stronger with every kilometre.

Our two‑day hop across France wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t slow.

But it was ours — full of unexpected little moments that make road trips unforgettable.