Wednesday, 19 May 2010
In the beginning there was...

…a great sense of anticipation. Only one more week to go! This day has been a long time coming and I’ve worked myself into a state of exhausted delirium to raise the dosh, but finally I did it, I’ve reached my target – money in bank for bills, money in pocket for journey. Just my dad’s 70th birthday party to attend and then we’re off, OFF I TELL YA.

Wednesday 26th May 2010 is our day of escape.

So, what’s all this about then? Well its about touring Europe. We’ve already bickered our way around America and Scotland, and we thought it was time we tortured our European cousins for a while.

Who’s ‘we’? That’ll be me and my hubby, Steve, who’s a Yorkshireman with a huge personality and a gob to match. I’m a Brummie, so I’m hardly in a position to slate people from oop north, but I do, I just can’t help myself.

We’ll be travelling in a car absolutely packed to bursting point with the basic necessities of life: tent, airbed, the best sleeping bag money can buy because I hate being cold, and whisky. I’d tell you what brand or make the car is, but I don’t know what it is, we’ve only had it three years. It’s silver anyway and quite cute. You’ll see pictures of it.

Yes, we’ll be camping. As I’m in my 40s and Hubs is in his 50s, our only limitation will be getting off the airbed first thing in the morning – if we can achieve that we can achieve anything.

We’ll be driving down from Birmingham (UK) to Dover, lobbing ourselves on the first cheap ferry to France, then turning right. Our journey will encompass Northern France (living off French bread, French cheese and French wine), Northern Spain (living off paella, tortillas and Sangria), through Portugal, then across Southern Spain and Southern France. Once there we’ll stop awhile and figure out what we’re going to do next.

There are two components to ‘What are we going to do next?’ The first is, how much dosh we have left, which is quite a biggie, but we’re frugal to the point of stinginess so we might be okay. I mean, you can’t get any cheaper than camping can you! If I’ve managed to locate wifi up to that point I’ll be able to work en route (I’m a transcriber… you know, typist), in which case the world is our oyster.

Component two will involve questions like: are we homesick, would we kill for some Heinz baked beans, do we miss our loved ones back home, and have we had enough of the airbed? As we both suffer from persistent itchy feet syndrome (Athlete’s Foot?) I suspect the temptation will be to carry on and see where the wind takes us. After all, there’s nothing we need to get back home for.

Hubs doesn’t have a job by the way (the nasty economy made him redundant), and I can work anywhere that has wifi, so we can do and go whatever we like… how exciting is that!

If you read anything here that includes the words ‘Help’, ‘Save us’ or ‘We’re lost’, please notify the appropriate authorities (and tell my children I love them). And don’t be afraid to get in touch if you have any questions or tips that might help us survive: bhamsecretary@gmail.com.

Let the adventure begin!

Tuesday, 25 May 2010
PROLOGUE

Berluddy Nora! Getting ready for a holiday is hard work innit! I worked for NINE SOLID HOURS yesterday trying to get rid of my workload. I thought today would be 'chill day'. Pah, how wrong can a person get.

Dashed to shops for last-minute necessities (coffee, I ain't going nowhere without a good supply of coffee). Packed bags, of which we appear to have Rather A Lot. Hubs told me to cut down on my clothes, so I removed a dress and a pashmena and he STILL wasn't happy - I mean, come on, cut me some slack here... oooh, slacks, forgot those.

Then there was house tidying, tidying of the garden, personal item hiding, some more packing and much muttering of "Do you think we'll need this bottle-opener/cushion/blanket?"

We did a practice pack of the car last week and it all seemed to fit in fine. Packed the car this afternoon and we couldn't get it all in. "You'll have to cut down on your stuff," Hubs demanded, so I took out a pair of shoes. He glowered, I removed a cardigan. He still glowered, but I ignored him after that, you just can't please some people. He did ask how many books I'd packed but I lied and told him two (there's seven... hope he doesn't read this before we set off).

The dog is looking nervous, he knows something's going on (as we force all of our worldy belongings into the back of the car). Small Son is looking after him... uh huh. I've left vet and kennel details out just in case. I've also put post-it notes all around the house for him (Small Son, not the dog, who can't read): "COOKER: To cook food. Clue is in the name, cook-er", "FRIDGE: Doesn't fill itself. Doesn't clean itself either", "DOG BOWL: Don't wait until dog looks like a whippet before feeding him", "FOOD CUPBOARD: Food to be collected from shops”, and my personal favourite, “SINK: We don’t have a dishwasher. Mix washing-up liquid with hot water and insert dirty plates”.

Finally, we’re ready. WE’RE READY!

Brace yerself, Europe, we’re coming.

And Yellerbelly's coming with us

DAY 1 – Wednesday 26 May 2010
Birmingham, UK, to Boulogne, France – 273 miles

Aaaaand orf we jolly well go! Oh my God, so berluddy excited!

Set off at 7.45am because we just couldn’t contain ourselves a minute longer.  Said goodbye to Small Son, comatosed in his bed; he trembled an eyelash in response.

Driving passed London, we saw a plane flying so low over the motorway that I pressed my face against the windscreen screaming ‘Oh my God! Its so low!’ It was United Airlines and I could actually see the passengers faces through the windows. Hopefully there was an airport on the other side of the motorway and the plane wasn’t just about to crash.

We booked a 2pm ferry crossing, but actually got to the port for the midday ferry, which was well good.  Waited a while in the car park while a little man in a yellow jacket directed all the cars/campers/motorbikes/lorries on board.  Driving up that ramp was fabulous, I could have burst at the seams with anticipation.

Raced around the boat having a nose at everything (and picking out the whisky in the duty free shop, which apparently doesn’t open for the first 20 minutes until we’re out of British waters or something stoopid). Found a table, sat down, immediately fell asleep. The droning of the engines and the gentle rocking of the boat sent almost everyone on board into an instant coma, and it was only a two hour crossing.

I broke a fingernail (my best one!) and a pair of sunglasses.  Good start.

Finally, we could see the coast of France. Half an hour later, we could still see the coast of France. Well, the Calais bit of France anyway; we were actually docking at Dunkirk, which is about 1400 miles inland (or so it seemed).

“Right!” I screamed, as we drove off the ferry into a foreign country, “Drive on the right!”

Hubs is actually very good at driving on the wrong side of the road. I’d be crap, I’d keep forgetting and have major meltdowns at every traffic island.  Driving in a foreign country is a bit like being dyslexic, you can’t read anything, can’t understand anything.

The weather wasn’t good, overcast and damp. Drove from Dunkirk to Calais, Marquid and Wimereux (A Wim A Way, A Wim A Way) looking for a campsite, of which there were none. Got horribly lost in Boulogne, going round in circles, but eventually we stumbled upon a campsite in La Portel and managed to make ourselves understood to the receptionist with the use of much arm waving. Being an expert at charades is a great bonus when you’re abroad, although you end up looking like a complete dick.  Receptionist sent us up to the top of a hill.  Marvellous view of the coast down below… and the concrete war bunkers all around us.  It was berluddy windy, the hill was drenched and muddy, and so were our feet… and our tent, and all our belongings.

Drove off in search of food, Hubs (now knackered) almost killing us by pulling out in front of a local, who screeched his brakes for endless seconds while we all stared at each other thinking ‘Is this it? Is this the end?’ Fortunately, it wasn’t, but it was a bloody close call.

Bought French cheese (woohoo), French wine (woohoo!), French bread (yeehaa) and French croissants in a bag (which are crap and nothing like the real thing). We also bought a tin of ‘cassolette’, which sounds quite nice doesn’t it, cassolette, kind of French-sounding and red wine-y. It wasn’t, it was massive haricot beans and some sort of fluffy sausage in a dreary, limp sauce; I’m surprised the French, reknown for their fine cuisine, would allow such a thing to be sold in their shops.

Ate, went to bed, huddled together for warmth.

Unfortunately, because we were damp and cold and the wind and the rain lashed at our tent on top of the hill, we couldn’t sleep. I actually caught a chill and was feverish, could NOT get warm, and because we’d eaten a load of cheese and some awful cassolette crap before leaping into the sleeping bag, my stomach churned and I was delirious for most of the night.

Here’s what I scribbled down the following morning, bleary eyed and still freezing cold:

“Camping at Boulogne. On top of a hill. In a wet, muddy field overlooking the grey English Channel. Exposed to the elements. The wind. And the rain. Perpetually wet feet. Toilet facilities one up from a hole in the ground, water dripping from the ceiling. Oh, and the airbed on a slope, at a 45 degree angle, so we kept waking up in the night to haul ourselves back up again. And the thought does occur, ‘Hmm, maybe this camping lark isn’t such a good idea after all’ as you lie in your crooked bed, freezing cold, listening to the rain beating against the tent. And behind the field, a lighthouse. Of course there is, blasting light into the tent at regular intervals throughout the entire bloody night.

Not a terribly good first night’s camping on the whole.

And for this, 14€.

Marvellous!”

As the Labour party once said, ‘Things can only get better’.

We shall see.

Campsite: SARL Camping du Phare du PORTEL (1 night: 14.40€)
Crap, sloping field, appalling toilet facilities – 1/10

Time to put up tent: 1 hr (minimal bickering).
Camping: 14€
Provisions: 12€
Miles covered: 273.

DAY 2 – Thursday 27 May
Boulogne to VEUlettes sur Mere – 140 miles

Awake at 2am, 4am and 5.30am. Eventually up at 6am, still slightly delirious and very, very cold.

But behold, the rain has stopped!

Realised whilst map reading yesterday that Hubs and I actually need to discuss exactly where it is we’re going before he thrusts the map book at me and sets off. Oh, the responsibility of map reading. Faced with 27 signposts, all in French, I just tend to panic and launch into whine mode (“I’m just a gurl, how am I supposed to know where we are?”).

Bought fresh croissants and bread at a local boulangerie, ate them overlooking the sea.  Fresh croissants are the greatest things every invented.

Yellerbelly's enjoying himself too!

On the way to Dieppe Hubs suddenly skidded the car to a halt and dashed into a boulangerie to buy some more. “Why?” I asked.  “I just had to do it,” he replied.

I’m gonna get real fat.

Today we zig-zagged from La Portel (just outside Boulogne) to Dieppe. Passed loads of campsites along the way, but they’re like policemen, try finding one when you want one. Eventually spotted one in St Valery en Caux, but they were closed for lunch (midday to 3pm – they apparently didn’t bother opening at all yesterday, according to a British couple we met there). Carried on to Vuelettes sur Mere and found a brilliant Municipal campsite for 9€ a night. Not only was it cheap, it was spectacularly beautiful, with a proper toilet and shower block. After last night’s pitch, it was heaven on earth.

Lobbed up tent and, after two days hard slog, we chilled.

Chilling (notice the can that was 'tossed out of shot')

Fastfinger's aid to chillin' (definitely not tossed out of shot)

Went to the loo and washed my hands afterwards (as you do). As I was shaking my hands dry, a gold ring flew off my finger. It all happened in slow motion: “Oh my God, my ring’s come off, and it’s Hubs’ ring, he’s gonna kill me, better catch it then!” The ring rattled around the sink like a roulette ball, my fingers chasing after it. And down the plughole it went. There was a brief moment of ‘Oh, not quite sure what to do now’, before I went outside to break the news to Hubs: “I’ve done something really stupid”.

As we could see the ring at the bottom of the plughole, we used a tent peg to try and fish it out, to no avail. Hubs then set off to find a wire coat hanger, somehow making himself understood to a French person by means of much shrugging and tsking. The French camper rushed into the toilet block and removed the plastic thingy underneath the plughole, and behold, my gold ring!

I almost kissed him, but refrained, instead repeating ‘Merci! Merci!’

We were planning to have a bottle of wine in the sunshine tonight. “What time do you think it is?” I asked Hubs, yawning my face off.

“About 9 o’clock,” he said. He went to check. It was 7.20pm.

We went to bed anyway, where I again endured feverish nightmares (one where Obama was declaring that the American people should embrace Islam, no idea where that came from). Maybe I just need to acclimatise to outdoor living… or maybe I’m just a berluddy wimp.

Slept for 10 hours solid.

Camp 2

Campsite: Camping Municipal, Veulettes sur Mer (2 nights: 18.40€)
Fabulous, loved it – 10/10

Time to put up tent: 45 mins (devoid of bickering, go us!)
Camping: 18€ (2 nights)
Provisions: 5€ (just bread and croissants!)
Miles covered: 140.

DAY 3 – Friday 28 May
DAY OFF: Veulettes sur Mer

Woke. Tent in darkness.  ‘Great, grey stuff again’, I thought, but no! Tent in shade and the day is GLORIOUS.

No drive today (one day on, one day off, to keep my husband alive to the end of the journey … and me too!) Took a long walk along the glorious beach to the White Cliffs at the end, which intrigued us because it was a layer of soft chalk interspersed with a thin layer of what looked like hard flint – what causes that? Hubs stood beneath the cliffs, saw how soft the chalk was, and said, “I don’t feel safe standing here.”

“It’s been there for millions of years!” I laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, “But this piece of flint here could be the keystone to the whole thing.”

“Then stop digging it out then!”

The sea was a beautiful colour under a cloudless blue sky – azure is the word that springs to mind, but I’m not entirely sure what azure is, so let’s say it was a very pretty green.

Drive to a supermarket afterwards for provisions (bread and beer, staples). We needed ice for the coolbox (where all the collected cheeses are literally running riot), but couldn’t remember what ‘ice’ was in French. I picked up a bottle of water, showed it to a shop assistant and shivered with hypothermia. She got it right away – give that Fastfingers an Oscar – but no, they had no ‘glace’.

Chilled for rest of glorious day on peaceful campsite, having an afternoon nap despite 10 hours sleep last night.

Burgers, sausages and salad (and obligatory bread) for dinner in the sunshine. Well chilled.

Not sure if it’s the fresh air, the travelling or all the unaccustomed exercise we’re doing, but we were in bed before 8pm, firstly reading, then yakking, then sleeping. First good night’s sleep so far, no fever and no nightmares. Phew.

The airbed is well comfortable, as are the two blow-up pillows we bought from Poundland (yeah, Poundland) – better than our pillows at home in fact. The tent is a masterpiece of design; Coleman Waterfall 5, big enough for five people (supposedly) but certainly roomy enough for two. Our Camping Gaz camping chef cooker is perfect on top of the B&Q folding BBQ. All in all, we’re very comfortable.

A note about our Municipal campsite (Municipal means council run and they have to maintain certain standards… they’re also very cheap to entice tourism to the area). This one is run by a very bubbly receptionist/manager and her VERY handsome husband, and the place is IMMACULATE. We’ll be hard pushed to tear ourselves away tomorrow. It also has free wifi so managed to send a couple of emails home to make sure everything’s okay (already!).

Time to put up tent: 0
Camping: 0€
Provisions: 43€
Miles covered: 0

Day 4 – Saturday 29 May
VEULETTES to COURSEULLES SUR MER – 173 miles

We’re using an AA Roap Map of Europe. That’s the WHOLE of Europe, so it only shows the main roads and we’re trying to use the ‘scenic routes’. We got hopelessly lost in the middle of nowhere this morning, mostly, it has to be said, because we were trying to avoid Le Havre, which is quite difficult when All Roads Lead To Le Havre.

So we’re parked at the side of the road underneath a road sign trying to figure out where the hell we were when a car stops in front of us. A man in a stylish pink jumper gets out, quite handsome I thought, before thinking that he was probably coming back to kill us while we were alone and lost. He didn’t, of course. “Can I ‘elp you?” he said, peering into the driver’s window.

Kwoar!

He looked at our road map and even he, who lived there, couldn’t figure out where we were or how we could get to where we wanted to be. He sent us back the way we came, which started us bickering (Hubs RUDELY accusing me of not being able to map read, the swine… my directions mostly consisted of shrieking “We’re going the wrong way!”). Then Hubs ran a red light and I made him stop while I got out, walked down the road a bit, smoking and muttering about rude husbands and near death experiences.

What we had to do in the end was… go the wrong way. We had to swing all the way round ROUEN, which was berluddy miles away, and then double back on ourselves towards CAEN on the motorway… the TOLL motorway. I was gutted as I handed over euros. Plus it was lashing down with berluddy rain, and then we came to yet ANOTHER toll booth.

“4€!” I cried.

“The devil himself couldn’t get me off this road until I have Reached My Destination!” Hubs hissed.

Fair enough.

Drove through a town. “Shall we stay here?” Hubs asked, pulling up at a campsite sitting amongst ugly concrete buildings. Hubs’ criteria for a campsite is easy: whichever is closest when he’s had enough of driving. My criteria involves: is it in a nice location, does it have a view, and what’s the atmosphere, the FEEL of the place like?

“Nah, not here”, I said to Hubs, and on we drove, Hubs muttering under his breath until I forced him to pull over and park in another town, where looking at an old tanker gun from WWII calmed him down a bit.

Campsite up the road fine, next to the sea with a good ambience about it… and within our budget too (15€ a night). “Parlez vous Anglaise?” we asked the girl on reception. “Yes,” she replied. ‘Oh good,’ said Hubs, and launched (as he’s apt to do at regular intervals) into a monologue of where we’d been and where we were going. You could see from the look on the girl’s face that she was thinking ‘That’s not even English he’s speaking!’

“Where do we go, love?” Hubs asked after he’d paid.

“Follow me and I’ll show you,” she said, hopping onto a pushbike and guiding us at a leisurely pace across the campsite (not quite as nice as the last one, but good shower and toilet facilities, so not as bad as the first one either… in fact, I’m sure nothing could be as bad as the first one).

Bickered putting the tent up in gale force wind. We were tired, but we don’t stay annoyed with each other for long, and we soon managed to chase the tent down on the beach.

The airbed, shortly before it took off and we had to chase it down

Aaaaand… chill.

Two things made me laugh my lungs up tonight. One was Hubs coming into the bedroom area, which doesn’t sound at all funny does it, but because we’d pinned the tent down TIGHT against the wind all the door entrances were raised from the floor. He tripped. Usually a cause for concern, it must be said, but he just felled like a tree, looking at me the whole time as he went (“You appear to be going sideways, dear… oh, it’s me”) like something Basil Fawlty would do, and he fell onto softish ground so nothing was broken or injured and there was no blood involved, so that’s good. And as he lay there, watching me trying to draw breath with tears squirting from my eyes, he lifted the corner of the airbed and cried, “Yes, everything’s fine under here, dear.”

Then he went to fill the water carrier at the nearest tap, which clearly had more ‘poke’ than he’d anticipated.  He came back dripping wet, which again had me laughing like a drain. It’s these little moments that count.

Having eaten croissants and pastries en route (when in Rome and all that), we raided our Emergency Supplies and had Sainsbury’s sweet and sour chicken and Aldi Irish stew for ‘tea’… and very nice it was too (washed down with wine and Stella).

And so… to bed. 8pm. We’re such lightweights.

* Before the trip I bought an inverter charger for the car, at great expense, to charge up the laptop. Had it on for two hours yesterday as we traversed northern France, but the laptop didn’t charge at all (yet it would charge the mobile phone… not at the same time of course). I now have a Dead Laptop. This laptop is No More. Which is rather annoying. I have writer’s cramp of the chronic kind and have been forced to acknowledge that my handwriting has, through lack of use, become truly appalling.

Campsite: Camping Champ de Course, cOURSEULLES sur Mere (2 nights: 30€)
Very nice, excellent toilet facilities and interesting local area – 8/10

Time to put up tent: 45 mins.
Camping: 30€ (2 nights)
Provisions: 3€ (croissants and bread)
Berluddy toll roads: 9€
Miles covered: 173 (which is like a right lot considering we hardly went anywhere).

Day 5 – Sunday 30 May
DAY OFF: Courseulles Sur Mer

Yet another night’s disturbed sleep (plus I’m bunged up, literally, to the eyeballs with swollen sinuses). First there was the music and screaming coming from somewhere on site (suspect it may have been the Eurovision Song Contest as the croissant man was terribly excited that Germany won this morning). Then there was the gale force wind beating up our tent. And then there was the crashing, and I mean CRASHING, of the waves of the sea right behind us.

I dreamt I went home and Small Son told me the dog went missing the day after we left, and that he was going out with both his new girlfriend AND his old girlfriend – nightmare!

Plus the airbed has a leak so we had to pump it up in the night.

Cloudy today but warm with occasional sun – any TV channels that want me as a weather girl, get in touch.

Big day for Hubs today. Went to Omaha beach and the American war cemetery, which Hubs has always wanted to see. He gave me – and anybody else who stood long enough to be captured – a detailed history of the fighting on the shores.  He loves history, does Hubs.

Stopped to see the gun bits and temporary port (Mulberry Harbour) they’d built in the war, and I was fine with all that… until I saw a photograph of a young soldier who was the image of one of my sons, and then it was just like I’d been punched in the stomach. Unusually for me, I was overwhelmed with emotion and started crying. Couldn’t stop. 

We drove on to the war cemetery with me still sniffing. I said I wasn’t going in, would wait for Hubs outside in the car, but I did go in, and I’m so glad that I did. The atmosphere was palpable as hundreds of people walked around the thousands of white cross graves in total silence. We were honoured to watch a ceremony attended by French and American dignitaries to celebrate the anniversary of the D-Day landings in 1944. It wasn’t just me standing there with tears running down my face, mothers with young children were openly sobbing as well.  It was very emotional. VERY. I’m so glad I went.

Then on to Bayeux to see the tapestry, which I was very excited about as I’d studied it at school but never thought I’d see it for real. Hubs and I had a mild bicker as we wandered round the shops trying to decide what to have for lunch in the multitude of restaurants. Hubs picked pizza! Worse, it came complete with FROZEN scallops on the top. “Don’t eat those” I said, as Hubs popped one into his mouth and crunched it, “You’ll die of food poisoning.” He’s still alive as I write this some hours later, but then he’s had to tolerate my cooking for the last 10 years so maybe he’s built up an immunity. (“Bon appetite’ someone said to us as they passed, which was nice).

Bayeaux Cathedral - very impressive

Tapestry was AMAZING, berluddy long (70 yards… it went round a corner). The audio guide (which was included in the entry price, unlike some places in the UK) was a bit rushed though. “In scene one we see Harold, in scene two we see… in scene three..” All these people were shuffling sideways at a vast rate of knots down the dark, bendy corridor.

Afterwards we went in search of a shop to top up on provisions (“Beer!” cried Hubs), but zut alors, shops are shut on Sunday, even the big ones. Hubs was gutted, but not half as much as I was when I realised he’d be drinking my finest Scotch whisky.

Trouble at reception when we arrived back at the campsite. Irish travellers with huge caravans were trying to bully the young receptionist into letting them in. We hung around to keep an eye on her, but luckily they gave up and went. The girl thanked Hubs.

Tried to find leak in airbed. Failed. We wake up lying on hard ground in the morning.

* Driving on the wrong side of the road (the right) has completely thrown my senses, my brain simply can’t comprehend it all. I say “Turn left” when I mean right and visa versa. Its really weird, and doesn’t improve relations between me and the driver, who simply wants to know where to go. I have to exercise ‘prudence’ (which cracks me up every time I see it on a road sign… prudence).

* I noticed I’m getting some strange looks in our right-hand car. As we’re going round traffic island and I’m looking the other way, twiddling my hair and staring up at the sky, people double-glance, obviously thinking ‘That woman has a very relaxed attitude to driving’. Sometimes I pretend to drive using an invisible steering wheel. I might buy one of those children’s toy ones to stick on the dashboard.

* Hubs taught me to play poker tonight, which is well boring unless actual money is involved, and when actual money is involved I berluddy lost it all so I ain’t playing again.

Time to put up tent: 0
Camping: 0€
Provisions: 3€
Miles covered: 66

Day 6 – Monday 31 May
COURSEULLES to LE MONT ST. MICHEL – lorra miles

Fortunately, considering the shops weren’t open yesterday, they WERE open today because its not a Bank Holiday in France as it is at home, so we didn’t starve to death.

Airbed went down completely in the night. Hubs blew it back up and finally found the leak. When you take the bung out of it, it sounds just like a DeLaurean car coming Back To The Future.

Bloooo sky! Yeeeehaaaaa.

Today we packed up the tent and didn’t bicker once… go us! We’re gelling. We haven’t gelled in a while. We’re settling into the rhythm of the journey now.

We can’t seem to buy bags of ice for the coolbox (I mean, c’mon, they even sell them at Sommerfield). In a moment of pure genius, which admittedly doesn’t happen often, I decided to buy a bag of peas and a bag of potato square things instead… ice for the coolbox and food for later too.

First sight of Le Mont St Michel in the distance as we approached it was very exciting. Drove towards it, but there was paid-for parking at the end of the road and, as we were still loaded up with camping gear, we turned around, planning to visit tomorrow on our day off.

Hubs had all his hair shaved off before the journey so it wouldn't blow in his eyes, tsk.

Found a campsite nearby, which is always a relief in case you can’t find one and end up sleeping in the car. Fortunately, by keeping to the coast and all the ‘tourist’ areas, there doesn’t seem to be any shortage of places to stay. Not sure if its like that inland, but here we’re almost spoilt for choice. This place looks like a hotel with a campsite at the back and looked right posh place, and it didn’t have the magical word ‘Municipal’ on the sign either, but surprisingly it was still only 15€ per night. Smaller site than the last two (bit cramped I thought, and most of the others seem to be campervans, some of them enormous), but pleasant enough.

Set up the tent in total silence, we both know what we’re doing now. First day took over an hour to set everything up, today it took us only 35 minutes.

Chicken cooked outside tonight with some of those square potato things – not quite sure what they are actually, but they taste okay.

And then a strange thing happened. Despite having had a nice day and the sun was shining and we were trying not to scorch in direct sunlight, Hubs and I fell out. Not bickering but REALLY falling out… to the extent that I walked off and sat outside the campsite on the main road. A French man, returning to his tour coach, stared at me for a long time while I pretended not to notice, and then he said, “Mademoiselle?” I looked over and he was holding open the door to his (empty) coach. There was a strange look on his face.

I suddenly realised that I was sitting there, alone, wearing only a t-shirt and a very small pair of shorts… well, I am on holiday and style has never exactly been my forte. I don’t know what he thought I was doing there on my own, but I though two things instantaneously… (a) cheeky git, and (b) he was only a young thang so I must still Have It (whoohoo!).

Went back to tent and we did the silent back treatment in a sleeping bag all night.

Bugger!

Campsite: Camping-Caravanning du Mont Saint Michel (2 nights: 30€)
Nice site, good showers etc., slightly small pitches – 8/10

Day 7 – Tuesday 1 June 2010
DAY OFF: Le Mont St. Michel

Absolutely crap day. There’s always one. I know there’s always one on every trip, but it still takes me by surprise when it comes.

Hubs and I still not speaking. It doesn’t help either that its absolutely TEAMING down with rain. What the hell happened to the bloo skies of yesterday? I mean it LASHED down all day.

Read. Didn’t speak. Drove around to look at the coastline but ended up at some dreary port town (St Malo). Came back, still not speaking, read some more.  This is only the third time we’ve argued this bad in 10 years.

Finally, a break. Discovered how to get my laptop to charge (used a different plug adaptor as we have two). I’m sitting here now in the TV room, laptop plugged in, typing this, as a German couple who are cycling through several countries sit and watch a German quiz show.

Hubs and I started talking again. I don’t know what it is. Its almost like we have to overload and then reboot in order to get back on an even keel again. Road trips, love ‘em, but if there’s any hairline cracks anywhere they’re gonna show up as big as the Grand Canyon.

But at least we’re friends again now.

Oooh, I don't like leaving it on a downer... there IS some good stuff to come (including pictures), just as soon as (a) I can find a plug socket that actually works in order to charge up my laptop or (b) figure out how to use the USELESS e:can charger thing in the car which DOESN'T work, and (c) actually find WiFi. Campsites advertise 'WiFi', but they usually mean a computer in the lobby somewhere that has all the 'portholes' blocked off so you can't download or upload anything, and some are even restricted to French sites only, which isn't terribly helpful when you can't actually speak French. Anyway, holiday IS going fab, and every time we move on it just gets hotter and hotter. S'great.

DAY 8 – Wednesday 2 June
ST.MICHEL to ST.GILLES (NR LES SABLES) – 205 miles

An early start after a good night’s sleep. Hint of sun in the almost blue sky, but was soon gone as the grey clouds crept over… is it Monsoon Season in France or something? Packed up in 30 minutes and then we were outta there.

Aaaaand we’re off, to RENNES and the coast beyond, where hopefully we might catch sight of the sun again at some point.

We did well today, in a better mood with each other, and we’re only following the main roads which cuts down on a lot of squabbling at road junctions and fairly eats up the miles. Flew passed NANTES, through ST.NAZAIRE and across the big bridge.

Tthen carried on down the coast road. 

And what was on the coast road? Holiday campsites with loads of children and playgrounds, a bit like Butlins and my idea of hell. ‘I’m not staying anywhere like this,’ I thought to myself as we passed one after another.

Then we broke free of all the Butlins and Pontins places and drove through a forest area. Lo and behold, a normal campsite with No Children. Perfect. We could even toddle off, armed with a site map, and pick our own pitch.

Ran into an English family in a converted GPO van (how fab is that?) And where were they from? Why, Birmingham no less. Salt of the earth people, us Brummies.

Had a walk through the forest to the nearby beach (very nice) and the road outside the campsite (yay, a tabac for my ciggies, which, incidentally, are no cheaper over here… pah!)

Aaaaand chill.

Another early night. Exactly how much sleep do two people need?

* The roads here, even the motorways, are incredibly quiet, hardly anybody on them except for lots and lots of campervans. The campsites are out-of-season quiet too. Its lovely. But the villages we drive through are spookily devoid of people, they look like abandoned film sets. In fact, at one traffic island we saw a beautiful old house, but when you drove passed it you could see that it was a 'false' house held up with planks of wood from behind... which only increased my suspicion that the whole of France is just a film set for tourists, like The Truman Show.  The few people we do see wandering down otherwise deserted village streets clutching at baguettes are obviously 'extras'.  Everywhere we drove I kept saying to Hubs "Where are all the people?" 

* France has the same population as the UK, but four times as much land.  It just seems so big and spacious.  Some of the scenery is just magnificent.

Campsite: Camping Municipal de Sion. St Hilaire de Riez (2 nights: 37€)
In forest, very nice & quiet, pathway to beach – 9/10

DAY 9 – Thursday 3 June
DAY OFF: St.Gilles (Nr Les Sables)

Woke to clear bloo skies and HEAT. Maaaan, it’s hot! 26 degrees hot. Hello shorts and t-shirt, goodbye fleece jacket I’ve been wearing since we left home (sometimes to bed).

Another 10 hour sleep last night, no idea what’s going on.

Chatted to the couple from Birmingham, who were a mine of camping information and showed us round their converted van, which was brilliant… but I still prefer our tent (more room).

Leisurely drive down the coast road to St.Gilles and beyond. The coastline is so beautiful and the towns and villages so quaint… its exactly how I imagined it all to be, so typically French. Really, really enjoying it, and I didn’t think I’d like camping much, but we have all the comforts of home – airbed, gas cooker, state-of-the-art tent and sleeping bag – so its no hardship at all.

Ate fresh croissants overlooking the ‘azure’ sea, then drove down and watched the surfers in the waves. Hubs became slightly obsessed with buying a dustpan and brush to clean the sand out of the tent, so bought sandwiches too and ate them overlooking the sea. It’s a great way to live: buy food when hungry, eat with a view. I could seriously get used to this. (Note to Middle Son: Sell house, send money lol).

In the supermarket they sell a lot of fish, obviously, cos its near the sea innit, but in this one they had a tank full of lobsters all tied up and waiting to die. I will NEVER eat lobster. Free The Lobsters! Their fresh produce is local so its all super-fresh. Shoppers were shaking curly-leaf lettuce like girls hair, I was mesmerised by the movement. They’re just like the supermarkets in America, only here there’s NO ONE IN THEM. Where are all the people?

My laptop has become a liability because we can’t charge it in the car with the e:can’t converter (berluddy thing). Actually managed to charge it by plugging it into the ‘outdoor’ men’s toilets and putting it on a chair directly opposite our tent so we could watch it for two hours. But at least the lack of battery power has forced me to have a proper break from the keyboard and the internet and work, which is nice.

Returned to our tent to find that the coolbox had turned into a hotbox (its not an electric one, it runs off frozen plastic things which tend to melt). Milk, cheeses and pate had all gasped their last and expired.

It’s really, really hot.

The Back Seat. The entire car was packed as precisely as a jigsaw puzzle, not a millimetre of space was wasted

DAY 10 – Friday 4 June
ST.GILLES to SOLOUC SUR MERE (NR BORDEAUX) – 163 miles

Woke in the night because something was sniffing heavily around our tent, right by our heads where we were sleeping. Sounded bigger than a rat but smaller than a dog, and it didn’t sound like a dog sniffing, it sounded more like the nasal grunt of a pig. It didn’t immediately run off when Hubs banged the side of the tent a couple of times either, so it was a fearless bugger. Totally freaked me out.

“Shall I go out and see what it is?” Hubs asked.

“NO!” I cried, “That’s what happens in horror films and they NEVER come back!”

Heard every leaf flutter and bat fart after that, convinced we were about to be murdered by the locals or abducted by aliens. Was REALLY happy when dawn FINALLY arrived.

Packed and ready by 8am. Except the reception didn’t open until 9am (to get our security key dosh back), so we drove down the road, sat on a wall by the beach and watched fishing boats coming in off the bloo, bloo sea.

Aaaand we’re off again, to who knows where this time. Terribly exciting. Stuck to main roads but still saw all the stunning French countryside and it’s just so much easier (the ‘green’ roads, not t’motorways). Watched the temperature on the dashboard go up from 24 degrees to 30 degrees! Hot, hot, hot!

LA ROCHE SUR YON to LA ROCHELLE to ROCHEFORT to ROYAN.

Stopped in Royan to get our bearings as the place is a LOT bigger than we’d expected and we needed to find out where the ferry is to take us to Le Verdon (to save us driving all the way down to Bordeaux and then back to the coast). Had the BEST tuna, tomato and boiled egg baguette on the planet – fresh tuna!

Caught the woman just about to lock the door to the Tourist Information place, but Hubs being Hubs wasn’t going to let opening hours stand in his way and bombarded her with questions about the ferry: where it was, how did we get there, what time did it leave and how much was it, while a queue of not so fortunate/gobby people stood behind him waiting their turn. When Hubs had finished, the woman quickly locked the door, and people wandered off muttering miserably.

Finally found the tiny little port for our ferry and waited in a queue for it to turn up ‘from the other side’. Chatted to some of our fellow passengers. “Are you from Birmingham?” a German man asked, beaming.

‘Oh’ I thought, ‘Birmingham is clearly famous throughout Europe. Go Brum!’

“My son is in Birmingham,’ the man said, ‘In Kings Heath’. (At our second campsite the receptionist told us her son was in Chester. “Oh, Chester?” I said. “ChestA,” she repeated.)

“How did he know we were from Birmingham?” I asked Hubs afterwards.

“It’s splattered all over the number plate,” he said.

Ferry for a 20 minute crossing was 25€, but hey, you can’t be staggeringly stingy all the time no matter how hard you try (and old habits Die Hard). Breeze as we bombed across the water was refreshing – so refreshing I had to go inside before hypothermia set in. The ferry had all these open seats up top, it was dead cute.

As we drove off the other side I could tell Hubs was getting tired: irritable, sighing a lot, fidgeting in his seat. We looked for a campsite and got horribly lost, but we stumbled across a long road full of ‘campings’. Stopped at first one and, surprisingly, it was Hubs who said, “I don’t like this one, there’s just something about it.” It could have been the man sitting outside reception who looked chronically depressed. Next one was fine, nice place.

Hubs LURVES putting up the washing line - makes him feel like Ray Mears

Put tent up in scalding heat, so hot I had to keep cooling my legs off under the water tap to stop from crisping. As a treat for our efforts we had a cold beer at the tiny bar on site. Hubs was overcharged, which is no minor offence for a Yorkshireman, so we won’t be drinking there again!

And orf to the nearest supermarket to stock up on supplies, and lo, they sell blocks of ice for our poor coolbox.

Spent evening reading and relaxing in the glorious sun, and then, of course, bed early (8.30 to be precise; I think we may have a medical condition).

Cricket-ville here.  Noise all night.

* The heat is just incredible. As we drove south I watched the gardens turn from luscious green to desert plants, and the houses look more Spanish than French down here.

* I’ve barely lifted a finger since we left home. Hubs is SO good at throwing something together for dinner and washing up afterwards. He even toddles off with the dirty clothes every now and again to wash them – by hand! Absolute star.

Campsite: Camping Les Oyats (2 nights: 31€)
Very open site, basic facilities, very quiet (apart from crickets) – 7/10

DAY 11 – Saturday 5 June
DAY OFF: Solouc Sur Mere (Nr Bordeaux)

No strange creatures snuffling round our tent last night (phew), only the relentless sound of crickets, billions of the buggers. Woke up to unfamiliar bird calls – pterodactyls are apparently still alive and well!

“Oh, its cloudy,” I moaned, glimpsing the grey plastic windows of the tent, but no, it was condensation and, tsk, another sunny day.

Hubs

Moi

Facilities here aren’t as good as the other sites (I’ll be doing a list of all the campsites we’ve stayed at). Showering floods the whole outside block, but as long as you can wee, shower and clean your teeth it doesn’t really matter.

The campsite itself is actually like a dry football pitch, and we’re right in the middle with the ‘permanent’ campers on the outside. There’s no shade and no privacy. A couple of women from a static caravan walked by and openly stared at us like circus attractions – feels like we’re the entertainment for the residents (“Hey, look! Brits!”). Another woman walked around the site carrying an ENORMOUS cat in a blanket like a baby. (At the second campsite we stayed at a woman walked around with her two dogs AND A CAT on leads – they’re very strange aren’t they, the French).

Drove to bottom of road to have a look at the beach, which was magnificent; sand like flour, water bloo and clear. I love the sound of crashing waves. Picked pretty pebbles and left our footprints in the sand.

As luck would have it (we’re always lucky… the power of positive thinking is a wunnerful thang) the town of Soulac Sur Mer is having a fete this weekend, so we went to have a look.

Fete? Pah! HUNDREDS of people were dressed up in costumes from the 1900s, the place was heaving. Dozens of stalls sold everything from bread to hats, jewellery to antiques. It was bloody marvellous, all these French people milling around to French music. Street vendors played their music boxes and sang to appreciative audiences.

The women were extraordinarily pretty (as Hubs kept pointing out to me, “Oh look, isn’t she pretty.” Slap, wallop.) Horse-drawn carriages and classic cars drove around the square outside an old church, all in staggering sunshine and blistering heat. I felt quite pretty wearing a dress (me, in a dress!), until I caught sight of myself in a shop window; ‘That can’t be me, I’m MUCH younger and MUCH thinner than that’. Self-delusion is brilliant until you're faced with reality.  Tsk.

I was desperate to buy Hubs an old-fashioned swimming costume (think long johns with red stripes), but he adamantly refused.

A really lovely day.

Came back to the tent exhausted, had to follow the shade of a lone tree around to cool off. Messed around with the e:can convertor which is SUPPOSED to charge my laptop as we’re travelling but doesn’t. Gave up, but actually found a powerpoint AND an unsecured (argh!) connection to the internet at reception. No urgent emails or work, so that’s good.

Hubs would rather cut off his own leg than admit it, but I think the driving is making him rather tired. He was a bit ‘off’ today, not himself at all: distracted and distant (could be all the pretty girls he keeps eyeballing). Had a look at the map book and decided we can’t possibly go round the entire coast of Spain without really pushing it, and this is supposed to be a holiday not an endurance test, so planned a new route inland and then down to the south coast of Spain via Andorra.

Watched a DVD on the fully-charged laptop in bed (Hubs didn’t know I’d brought them: Taken, his favourite). Laptop now flat again.

Huge thunderstorm over the sea at 5am. My lasting memory of this road trip will be of Hubs crouched by the tent door absolutely naked watching the lightning explode across the sky. It hardly rained at all though.

DAY 12 – Sunday 6 June
SOULAC SUR MER to ST. HILAIRE-DE-LUSIGNAN (nr AGEN) – 150 miles

Berluddy goddam cricket ALL NIGHT LONG. Thought it was actually in the tent somewhere, motionless and relentless, but when we took the tent down this morning it was actually under the groundsheet – big bugger too – along with an alarming number of crawly things.

The rain, eet comes.

Headed off to Bordeax, through wine country, driving passed umpteen fields of stunted grapevines, just mile upon mile of vineyards. My dad would love it here.

Heading inland there are fewer sites than on the coast… in fact, the only one we came across around lunchtime was closed and derelict. Hubs, in MUCH better spirits today now that there are no ‘pretty girls’ to ogle, said we’d camp next to a river if we had to and not to worry.

Successfully navigated the ring road around Bordeaux (yay!) and headed towards Agen/Toulouse, but missed our turn-off and ended up on a toll road instead (curses). Countryside and tiny French villages are just gorgeous, you couldn’t be anywhere else but France, everything is just so French.

Spotted people selling cooked chickens along the roadside. “Let’s get one,” Hubs said, which of course was the kiss of death and we didn’t see any more after that. Had Doritos instead, laughing at the road signs which pointed towards ‘pique nique’ areas.

FINALLY spotted a small ‘campings’ sign and headed down a long country lane. Really long. I had visions of us camping outside a farmhouse next to a barn filled with rusty, bloody blades (because I watch far too many horror films). It was actually a fully-fledged campsite, so full of trees and green stuff it was like camping in the middle of a forest. The owner was just lovely, really friendly. Her farmhouse looks like it used to be a water mill, very quaint.

Found an isolated corner to camp – nobody can see us at all (yay!) and there’s shade (double-yay!).  The complete opposite of the last campsite.

Pitched up and wandered back to reception to place our order for bread and croissants to be delivered to our tent in the morning (service!) and bought a bottle of local wine, which wasn’t overpriced at all, only 4€… and VERY nice it was too.

Spent the evening yakking, yakking and yakking. A perfect end to a really nice day.

I LURVE road trips.

Campsite: Le Moulin de Mellet, St.Hilaire de Lusignan (2 nights: 32€)
Secluded farmhouse, swimming pool, ‘restaurant’ (doesn’t take cards) – 10/10

DAY 13 – Monday 7 June
DAY OFF: ST. HILAIRE-DE-LUSIGNAN (nr AGEN)

No crickets last night (phew), just the noise of what sounded like a dog eating a duck – no idea what that was, and don’t like to dwell on it too much.

And behold, ze bloo sky!

Owner delivered our bread and croissants at 8.30am with a big smile. “Excuse moi,” I cried, “Avez vous wifi?” Her eyes widened for just a moment, obviously wondering how anyone could strangle the French accent in such an abominable way. I’m taking French lessons the minute we set foot back on British soil.

She didn’t have ‘wiifii’. Hardly anyone does.

Drove into Agen, some of it on the wrong side of the road (and neither of us noticed until a car came speeding towards it, the driver’s face just a series of startled circles). Streets were closed off for a market, how exciting. Luck again gave us a prime parking spot right next to it, despite it being busy, but I had a funny feeling.

Market was interesting, had a Moroccan feel to it with lots of shiny jewellery, bright clothing, and lots of Islamic items. Hmm, Islam, they don’t approve of women wearing shorts do they. I suddenly felt naked.

I turned to Hubs. “Are you happy about where we parked the car?” I asked him.

“No,” he said, and as one we both turned back.

Odd feeling.  The car was fine though.

Drove on through the beautiful countryside to Villeneuve Sur Lot. Popped into Tourist information but they didn’t appear to have very many leaflets, our campsite has more. Admired a brick-built church, and then drove back to the campsite at midday to chiiiiiiill (Hubs still claiming that Katie Melua is definitely bonkers, whilst playing her CD over and over again on the car stereo).

Relaxed in sunshine and read a book whilst Hubs did a Ray Mear’s type adaptation on the tent opening to turn it into another canopy using a washing line, a stick and some ingenuity – he loves stuff like that, just HAS to keep busy.

Ingeniously constructed canopy - and me doing what I do best, chillin' and readin'

Watched dozens of dragonflies – red, blue and green – skimming the water of the stream that runs through the site. If my gorgeous granddaughter had been here (and I miss her bucket-loads) I would have told her that they were fairies… she would have loved that.

Campsite is brilliant. It even has a swimming pool! Hubs tried it out while I sat reading. I looked up at one point, the sound of silence alerting me, to find Hubs balanced precariously on the edge of the diving board. I thought briefly about our insurance policy before he dived in – like a whale performing a belly-flop.

Chatted to owner, such a nice woman, and planned to eat at her outside tables tonight as chicken curry is on the menu and I would ROLL OVER BROKEN GLASS for a curry.

There’s a young couple on site with a small baby. They walk or push this baby all around the campsite incessantly. It doesn’t cry, they just seem obsessed with it. They look very weary. I had the almost irresistible urge to rush over and say “We’ll look after it for half an hour, go and get yourselves a drink,” or offer them some baby advice gleaned from decades of child-raising, but I didn’t.

Hubs wants to stay here another day. We’ll see what the weather is like: if it’s raining we’ll move on, if its not we won’t.

Eating area at campsite is beautiful, outside the old farmhouse/water mill, next to the swimming pool and beneath a grapevine-strewn gazebo – splendid stuff. Not so splendid was the chicken curry, which had no discernible taste at all, but with such pleasant surroundings it didn’t really matter. Chatted to elderly couple from Newcastle at the next table. We all fussed over a kitten and I made plans to sneak it back to the UK, but not sure Sam would be too pleased.

We were up waaaay late tonight… 9.30! I actually bought a wind up LED lantern for the trip, but we haven’t used it once because we’re in bed long before darkness falls.

DAY 14 – Tuesday 8 June
ST. HILAIRE-DE-LUSIGNAN (nr AGEN), via ANDORRA, to BERGA (North of Barcelona) – 262 miles

We discovered that the noise of a dogs chewing ducks in the night is actually frogs, how weird is that?

Up early, yakking and drinking coffee. It’s raining, so we decided to set off in search of the sun again.

Packed slowly and took photos of the huge fig trees on site (and thought of my one, lone fig at home).

Oooh, I wish my fig tree was this big!

It was only 32€ for two nights! Bargain.

Headed off towards Agen, then took a wrong turning somewhere and ended up on a toll motorway (pah!) going passed Montauban. Toulouse was a nightmare of roads and we ended up on yet another toll road (PAH!) towards Foix and Andorra. No idea how much it cost because I used the credit card (took me ages to figure out how to do it, which really pleased the long queue of cars behind us), but it did quicken our journey into Spain, which was fortuitous considering what we did next.

Fabulous, brightly-lit tunnel just before we hit Foix, it was like driving through a Christmas tree.  And then we suddenly hit the ‘independent municipality’ of Andorra, didn’t even have to show our passports to the oh-so-bored guards at the border.

And then… AND THEN… we drove over the mountains of the PYRENEES!

Oh my God, how berluddy brilliant. Squiggles of hairpin bends took us up, and up, and up. The increasing height was quite nerve-wracking, I found myself gripping onto the door handle and my seat with white knuckles. The faces of the people coming down was quite funny though as they looked at me, peering up at the mountains with my face pressed against the window, apparently navigating the treacherous roads blind with an invisible steering wheel.

Wiggly windy roads of the French Pyrenees

It was MAGNIFICENT. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine driving our own car across the snow-covered mountains of the Pyrenees.

And guess what was at the top. A McDonalds! Tsk.

Andorra la Vella, the ‘capital’ of Andorra, was absolutely HEAVING with ‘duty-free’ shops full of cheap booze and fags. At an altitude of over 2,000 meters I could barely catch my breath and felt light-headed, almost faint – or maybe it was the sight of all that cheap alcohol. Wandered into one shop at random and saw the BIGGEST bottles of whisky I’ve ever seen in my life. 4.5 litres of Jack Daniels! You better believe I had me some of that (well, not the JD cos I love it at night but hate it the next morning, but 2.5 litres of something on ‘special offer’).

Heaven, I'm in heaven.  Cardboard cut-out Hubs points out my usual brand of alcoholic crap

So I got my cheap booze and my cheap fags, and Hubs got… a bar of chocolate. “I almost want to take up smoking again,” he said dejectedly. “NO!” I cried.

The girls at the till had perfected boredom and lethargy down to a fine art. Honestly, you could have cut through the apathy with a knife.

Carried on across the mountains, passing puddles of snow on the roadside. Parked to admire the view. A campervan in front of us had stopped to let their dog out… loose, on its own. Would you let your dog wander around right next to a 2,000 metre drop?

Top of the world, ma - look at that dog on the right, perched right on the edge!

Drove through ski villages full of Swiss-style chalets, my whisky bottles clinking on the back seat. Whole towns looked like they’d been HACKED into the mountainside. I just kept saying “Oh my God, isn’t it beautiful!” over and over again.

As we drove through a town a local dared to beep his horn at us peevishly, for reasons unknown. “How rude!” I yelled through the open window, “Don’t you know we’re BRITISH?” Sometimes you’ve just got to let rip, its good for the soul.

Drove through the whole of Andorra in an hour. Man, its small. The temperature went from 18 degrees at the top of the mountains to 31 degrees at the bottom. Our poor car, pushed to uncomfortable altitudes and gasping at the thin air, didn’t know whether it was coming or going, but it did it, it’s a good little car.

We were suddenly at customs again, and this time we had to stop – no customs to get in but they check you on the way out? A very young and very smartly uniformed official glanced with one eye at our bulging car whilst keeping the other eye on the lookout for real baddies.

And then we were in SPAIN! Whoo-hoo! We’ve done three countries today (France, Andorra and Spain in case you weren’t paying attention).

Looked for a campsite. First one was closed. Hubs didn’t like the look of the second one, but that turned out to be closed too. Third one was closed until 5.30 (as far as we could make out… it didn’t specify what date it opened at 5.30), and as it was only 3 o’clock we carried on looking, to no avail. I had visions of us sleeping in the car or ‘wild camping’ in some field and fighting with farmers in the morning, but we finally spotted the elusive camping sign at Berga, north of Barcelona. It was actually a ‘fitness and wellness’ centre with three swimming pools, spas, gyms, tennis courts and a massage parlour. ‘Uh huh’, I thought, as the receptionist went through all the activities on offer, ‘How much is this going to cost us?’ 25€, including electricity and PROPER WiFi. Yay! A couple of German bikers turned up and said it was the cheapest site in all of Spain. They also told us that Spanish campsites don’t actually open until July, so we were lucky to find this one. We’re always lucky.

Put up the tent in 100 degree heat. Only takes us 30 minutes now, we both know what we’re doing; we both pole and stand the tent, Hub pins it down while I hang up the bedroom and bring in the 10 bags from the car, then Hubs connects the gas cooker and blows up the air bed while I fill the bucket with cold water to chill the beer and water, and voila, home sweet home. How the car holds all that stuff I’ve no idea, but it does.

Afterwards we treated ourselves to a ‘grand’ beer in glass steins, sitting under an olive tree in the bar area overlooking the pretty town of Berga and the mountains beyond.

An unusually sombre looking husband - Berga town and mountains in the background

“Only 2€!” cried the Hubs, and bought another two steins to take full advantage – you can take the man out of Yorkshire, but you can’t take Yorkshire out of the man.

Back at the tent a Frenchman on a pushbike turned up on the teeny-tiny pitch next to ours. After he’d put up his teeny-tiny tent in the heat, Hubs went over with a bottle of cold beer, for which he seemed most grateful. Couldn’t speak a word of English, but he ‘charaded’ a lot, a bit like Monsieur Hulot. Later, seeing him perched on the wall outside his tent I gave him our spare fold-up chair.

Toilet and showers are IMMACULATE. Marble tops and automatic lights! More like hotel facilities than a campsite.

Tinned chilli for din-dins tonight, which consisted almost entirely of kidney beans, but washing it down with cheap whisky helped enormously.

And so to bed. We actually saw fading light tonight, although not actual darkness.

Campsite: Berga Resort (3 nights: 72€!)
3 swimming pools, spas etc. Immaculate toilets/showers, great view – 9/10

DAY 15 – Wednesday 9 June
DAY OFF: BERGA (North of Barcelona)

Woke to the sound of Persistent Rain. Ye Gods, this is Spain, it’s not supposed to berluddy rain!

As electricity is free here, and tight-Yorkshire Hubs can’t resist a freebie, we found an electrical shop in Berga and spent 20€ on fittings to plug ourselves into the mains supply. Hubs still thinks he has a bargain, but its great to be able to use the laptop and not worry about its two hour battery life (and then worrying where to charge it up again). 5 metre extension cable isn’t quite long enough to reach to the tent though, so we have to charge everything in the car parked next to the powerpoint. We’ve completely given up on the crap e:can’t converter – I shall be sending them a stern email when I get home.

Rain persisted. Relentlessly. Endlessly. We stayed in our tent ‘surfing the net’ (I actually did some transcription work!) Booked site for another two nights to give the excellent driver a well-earned rest. The place is huge and crammed with static caravans and awnings. The electric cables running from each one are a mess of connections – the Spanish have a VERY relaxed attitude to electricity, you feel the whole place might spark and burn at any minute. The site also has astro-turf laid around the caravans like green bandages, very odd.

We took advantage of the ‘social area’ between the gym and the indoor swimming pools to surf t’net as the rain LASHED down outside.

We could see Aldi (yeah, the shop) over in the town and set off for provisions, wriggling our way through the complicated streets. We only have to say ‘Hola’ to people and they cry “Ah, English?” We must have terrible Spanish accents (imagine, a Brummie and a Yorkshireman strangling their language).  Everyone seems a bit surprised but pleased to see us and our GB car.

Read. Had shower. Watched the rain running down our plastic window and started twitching with cabin fever.

Went to bar for beer (where Hubs had a grand stein and I had a glass thimble, tsk).

Er, what's going on here then?

Then, as we had a fully charged laptop, we watched The Mist DVD, which, because it’s a copy (sharp intake of breath) was barely audible and finished two minutes before the end of the film.

And so to bed, where we indulged in some giggling paranoia. We suspect the Frenchman in the teeny-tiny tent next to ours is actually an undercover policeman keeping an eye on us. Have we actually seen him ride the pushbike he has? We have not. And he smokes, a lot, surely a proper cyclist (who’s apparently pedalled all the way down from France) wouldn’t smoke? As we lay in bed sniggering, a mobile phone rang right outside our tent, and the Frenchman answered it, thus confirming our suspicions that we’re being watched (for reasons unknown… unless Hubs peeing into bushes outside our tent in the middle of the night is a criminal offence, in which case we’re stuffed).

A very, VERY damp day.

DAY 16 – Thursday 10 June
DAY OFF: BERGA (North of Barcelona)

Woke to rain. Rain! RAIN! Checked on internet and it seems the whole of Europe is swathed in dark clouds. Just our luck!

Gave the Frenchman/policeman next door a mug of coffee (trying to win him round so he won’t arrest us).

Sat in social area for a while, then, unwilling to spend another day trapped in our soggy tent, we headed out. Anywhere. Just picked a road and drove down it, marvelling as we always do at the magnificent scenery; hills and valleys and distant mountain ranges, olive trees, pretty Spanish villas, quaint little villages, virtually empty roads. And finally we found the sun!

In the distance we could see a castle perched on a hill.

Aimed our car at it and found Cordona, a typical Spanish town with roofs of terracotta tiles and balconies of flowers. Followed a coach up a scream-inducing road to the top of the hill, to the castle (where you didn’t have to pay to get in). The views were breathtaking, the castle magnificent.

Drove into the narrow and crazy streets of the town itself and came to a small supermarket frequented by locals. They stared at us as we marvelled at all the different foods, picking something for dinner. They had 1kg blocks of cake in huge boxes, who needs that much cake?

Came back to the tent and chilled, studying the map and deciding where to go next – I love that bit, planning our next adventure. Our poor map book looks a bit battered now, with pages torn and stained… a proper adventurers’ map book!

Finally the dark clouds coming over the mountains broke up and blue sky poked through again. At last! Cooked and ate outside.

And then the Russians came, three men and a woman, pitching their tent next to ours where the Frenchman had been. They whacked in their tent pegs using the back of an enormous axe! Obviously the KGB are keeping on eye on Hubs’ bladder habits now. He went off to converse with them, and then next thing I know one of them is in our tent showing us his state-of-the-art netbook and navigator system. He had a HUGE head. They’re definitely the KGB, infiltrating our tent in order to place tracking devices. Later they all sat together outside their tent listening to what sounded like sombre 70s folk music. They did come over and ask, in very good English, if we minded, and when I said no they turned the volume up.

And so to bed, hoping for better weather tomorrow. After three nights, I’m ready for the off now, my feet are itching again.

DAY 17 – Friday 11 June
BERGA to BANYULS SUR MER (via CADAQUES) – loadsa miles

The Russians, having planted their surveillance devices, packed up in total silence at 6.30am, then had to wait for the gates to open at 8am. As I walked to the toilets the youngest one passed me, smiled, and said something in Russian; I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of ‘We’ll be watching you’ or ‘There is no escape’.

Our plan today is to drive to the coast, overland, from Berga to Ripoll, Olot and Figueres, to Cadaques and the Mediterranean sea. We’d sourced a campsite on the internet which looked very nice. Considering we were on minor ‘yellow’ roads and I had some doubt about our ability to navigate our way after the disastrous attempts in northern France, it all went without a hitch, not a single wrong turn. The scenery was, as always, magnificent.

“Oh my God!” Hubs cried at one point, as we wiggled our way up a hill/mountain.

“What?” I asked, because it’s quite alarming when the calm and efficient driver suddenly makes statements like that, “WHAT?”

“You’re not sitting where I am,” he said, peering over the thin metal road barrier, “There’s a sheer drop on this side.” Which, because it concerned him, immediately concerned me, and I clutched at the door handle and seat again.

Drove through several tunnels bigger than the Queensway in Birmingham, terribly exciting.

And then we spotted something that made us look at each other with ‘Was it?’ expressions. There was a red umbrella at the side of a dual carriageway. Underneath it sat a fully made-up woman in a chair, just sitting there waiting for ‘trade’. A hooker!

“No way!” I cried, because I’ve led a very sheltered life and I’ve never seen a hooker before.

“Looks like it,” Hubs said.

Further on was another one. I was fascinated. What kind of lives must they lead to offer themselves up at roadsides like that?

At Rosa near the coast we passed a shop selling boats. Not little boats but BIG buggers inside what looked like a glass walled hangar. Outside were other boats, one from the UK (Solitaire Prince, London was one… just wanted to mention that in case the owner ever Googles it, and if he does, Hi!).

Passing Rosa, which looked a bit touristy for our liking with its big hotels and water parks, we drove up into the mountains again, across a national park, heading towards Cadaques, which, on the internet and on the map book, looked like a very nice place to camp. We traversed the winding roads and saw it in the distance, a pretty little village sitting right next to the sea.

Then we arrived. Oh my God, I’ve never been anywhere like it in my life. I had adrenaline rushes of the extreme kind, and I suspect Hubs did too. The streets were TINY. I’m talking slightly bigger than car width. We drove slowly down one street fairly BRUSHING against the doorsteps of the houses on either side. And not only that, they were all at least a 45 degree angle with tight bits at the end and no road signs, AND the roads were so bad they look like they’d recently been bombed. On a particularly steep slope going down Hubs put on his brakes and, very calmly I thought given the circumstances, said “We’re not stopping, the car’s still sliding.”

Flipping ‘eck, it was a nightmare. Other cars seemed to be going round in circles, inching round corners and up and down steep gradients just like us, trying to find a way out. It all felt very claustrophobic and not a little dangerous. Pedestrians pressed themselves against the buildings as we passed. Even the beach was tiny, the Mediterranean seeming to press against the village.

We found a tourist map on high poles and climbed a rock to look at it, searching for the campsite. Then we were back on the narrow streets again, teeth gritted, hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel or pushed into the mouth to stop the hysterical screams from escaping.

We eventually found the campsite. It was APPALLING. Like a huge football pitch of sand, strips of wood had been placed, seemingly at random given the varying sizes of the pitches, on the ground. It was desolate, with a couple of run-down campervans in one corner and a small tent next to a motorbike in another. No water taps, no electricity, no trees or bushes, just a run down reception/bar area at the top. It was NOTHING like the picture we’d seen on the internet.

“What do you think?” Hubs asked.

“I think I’d rather sleep in the car.”

“Yeah,” he said, “Me too.” We sat there for a moment, looking at the sand pit and the convoluted village beyond, and then Hubs said, “Let’s go back to France.”

“Okay.”

So that’s what we did, we escaped, and it really felt like an escape. Hubs was so shaken he asked for a drag on my fag as we careered around hairpin bends back into the mountains. “Are you sure that’s wise given the wriggly road?” I asked, “You’ll get light-headed and drive off the edge.” But he insisted, and he really did look quite shaken, so I handed him my cigarette. He took a drag and I shrieked, “Give it back! You’re not having any more!”

We didn’t crash.

Drove up to el Port de la Selva and through Colrea and back into France (we didn’t even have to show our passports). The entire journey was FANTASTIC. The road clung to the coast and we drove through the cutest villages with the Mediterranean Sea on our right, up and down hills, through vineyards and olive groves. It was like being in a film. Hubs kept leaning back in his chair, one hand on the steering wheel, the other slipping around my shoulders, humming old Mediterranean music . I giggled coquettishly. It was beautiful.

Blooming 'eck, am I Brummie or what?

Our first ‘campings’ sign was at Banyuls sur Mer. Municipal too, therefore cheap and of good standard. Lunch was still ongoing, therefore it was closed, so we drove around the site… very small, very packed, but with a couple of spaces available. Sat in the car waiting for it to open and fell asleep. When we woke up we noticed a road running up a hill and had a walk up there… to the rest of the site. The place is MASSIVE, but everyone seems to have camped around the toilet block (very scenic). Picked our pitch on one of the uppermost terraces overlooking the vineyards and the town (and, if you craned your neck, the sea).

Hubs sure does love that washing line - Ray Mears style

We booked in with our chosen pitch number. The receptionist said we couldn’t have that one, but could have the one behind, which was squashed into a corner with no view. We pitched where the view was and plugged in the laptop (I love electricity).

We put up tent irritably because we were tired after our long drive and this is our ninth campsite… and it was raining. Then we sat a while to recuperate. Carrefour was on the other side of the road, but we were so tired we drove there and dragged ourselves round the supermarket for provisions. The food here is more expensive than at home, but we splurged and bought an adjustable chair for Hubs like the one I insisted we bring, which is tres comfortable. He’s now a very happy man.

We bought a tin of something for din-dins, choosing it from the picture on the label. It was actually sauerkraut with sausages and, strangely, tuna. It was disgusting, but we ate it anyway.

Site is beautiful, peaceful, scenic, spacious and private. We stayed up for as long as we could admiring the view before hauling ourselves, unbelievably early, into bed. After two nights of crickets, two nights of frogs and three nights of air-conditioning noise at the last site, I slept like a log.

Bliss.

Campsite: Camping la Pinede, Banyuls sur Mere (3 nights: 36€)
Very nice, secluded, great view of town, loved it – 10/10

DAY 18 – Saturday 12 June
DAY OFF: BANYULS SUR MER

Beautiful day. Hubs discovered that the car break-down cover is actually for a calendar month and not for 28 days… which means we actually have more time here than we thought. WHOO-HOO!!

Chilled and relaxed around the tent for awhile, which really does feel like home now, then took a walk down to the village/town through pretty streets full of balconies with flowers and shutters at the windows. The cemetery contains gigantic family tombs, and heavy church bells hung from hunks of wood.

Sat on the sea front, admiring the edge of the world and people-watching. Wandered up a hill to a scenic view where there were picnic tables, sat and admired some more. Children played in the clear water with fishing nets. People lay on towels on the gravel beach, tanning themselves. Boats pottered on the water and into the tiny marina. It’s a lovely little place, hardly touched by tourism at all.

Banyuls sur Mer

We would have eaten at one of the restaurants overlooking the sea, but we can’t read French and wouldn’t know what to order – we could do with pictures, but I guess that would lower the whole tone of the place. Instead, we ducked into a little supermarket and bought sandwiches, which were awful (we fed them to the birds). The French ‘don’t do’ sandwiches, they don’t do ‘quick snacks’ for lunch like trays of salad or pies or freshly stuffed bread (think Greggs). There’s definitely a gap in the market. Another gap is Takeaways… CURRY! Haven’t seen a single one. Not one! What on earth do they do on a Saturday night when they can’t be bothered to cook??

Entrepreneurs, take note: sandwich shops and curry houses are the way to go.

Walked a different route back to the tent which was MILES longer than the walk we took there, and in the searing heat as well (mad dogs and Englishmen). Finally shuffled into camp, exhausted, pulled out our adjustable chairs, dragged them into the shade, and slept, both of us, Hubs snoring like a drain. Then Hubs lay on the bed and slept for another hour – I think all the driving might be getting to him.

After his siesta we trundled on over to Carrefoure for more provisions – we buy daily because everything goes off so fast in the heat. I’m anosmic (no sense of smell), which means my taste-buds don’t fire on all four cylinders… in fact, my sense of taste is Crap. I need spicy food. I NEED spices, and I haven’t had any since we left home more than two weeks ago – hence my gagging desperation for a curry (my kingdom for a berluddy CURRY!)

And lo, I found a microwave meal that promised chicken tikka. No worries about not actually having a microwave, I was having it, would heat it in the sun if I had to. I was so excited. Hubs carried his box of beer bottles back to the tent in a backpack, mugging about the weight all the way. Tossed tikka and rice into the same saucepan, heated, and ate. OH MY GOD, I COULD TASTE IT! And all was well with the world again.

Went to bed early – surprise surprise. We get the urge to slip into a coma at around 7pm, but manage to hold off until 8.30-ish. Heat? Fresh air? Exercise? Who knows, but we do get up early… usually.

DAY 19 – Sunday 13 June
DAY OFF: BANYULS SUR MER

Its just keeps getting hotter and hotter, the sun blazing in a clear blue sky.  It actually reached 108 degrees today… that’s hot!

Only one thing to do on a day like this.  Absolutely nothing.  Sat outside our tent, reading in the shade, occasionally talking, occasionally wandering down to the toilet block with our green M&S bag filled with toiletries and towels. 

Lay back in my adjustable chair, cloud watching, watching house martins/swifts flit and spin in the sky like miniature jet fighters, watching dark clouds spill ominously over the hill and dissipate in the scorching heat.  And eagle, high up, floated gently above me.  Blow us, in a tiny building that’s not part of the campsite, people gathered and cooked a meal outside, charting wildly in French as bottles clinked.

Felt terribly guilty for being so lazy – too lazy and too hot to walk into town where they’re holding a market today.  Incredibly chilled and relaxed.  We can’t slob like this at home, in our back garden, where plants cry to be watered, carpets nag to be vacuumed, food waits to be cooked.  And besides, Hubs has a bad back today… too much driving, too much walking, too much sleeping on an airbed.

So we do nothing.  All day.  And it was berluddy great.

I did muster up the energy to fill the bucket with water for our drinks at one point.  First time I’ve used the tap at this site (Hubs would no doubt cry ‘First time you’ve used one at any site!’, but he’s the hunter-gatherer type and I’d hate to upset him in any way).  Water pressure was tres bon.  I turned the tap and watched a tidal wave coming at me at around 75 miles per hour.  Got absolutely drenched.  Giggled hysterically back to the tent dripping wet.

There’s campervans parked in the Carrefour’s car park across the road.  We’ve seen a lot of them parked outside supermarkets on our travels, tucked into corners hoping not to be noticed.  They call it ‘wild camping’.  I’d call it too mean to pay camping costs.  I mean, they have no view, no facilities, no privacy.  It looks an unutterably boring and unimaginative way to travel – they could at least park somewhere scenic.

We did, briefly, consider buying a campervan for this trip, but the innards of our tent is so much greater than the space available inside a standard sized van, and the larger the van the more restricted you are regarding where you can go (which is why some of the bigger ones have a scooter strapped to the back).  Its also more expensive to camp in one, around 44€ compared to our 15€ a night, and the ferry crossing is a lot more too.  So, all in all, I much prefer the nippiness of our little car, and our ‘home’ only takes 30 minutes to set up.  Lots of people clearly disagree, considering the number of RVs of varying sizes we’ve seen on the roads.  One bloke told us he just liked to pull up his handbrake and that was it, but I’m sticking firmly to our tent, it does us well.

I miss nothing about home except the people I love… and curry.

* There’s loads of sparrows and ring-necked doves all over the site and they’re very tame.  We’ve called one sparrow Mimi, she comes up very close if we tempt her with bread, and even flew right through our tent to have a look at what else we might have to offer.

DAY 20 – Monday 14 June
BANYUL SUR MER to  MARSEILLAN PLAGE (nr Sete) – 122 miles

Hangover from hell.  I mean, really, all my internal organs, including what’s left of my brain, have turned into blancmange.  Hubs had been in charge of ‘making’ my drinks last night (whisky drowned in lemonade), and he’d obviously been holding lengthy conversations with me as he upended the whisky bottle into the small plastic cup.  I feel soft and mushy and nauseous – and we had to pack the tent up.  There was a lot of groaning involved.

They have a tannoy system at this campsite, which occasionally echoes into life.  We listen in the hope that we might understand a word or two, to no avail.  The messages are, apparently, about services available down at reception.  We realised this when we saw the pizza van on our way out this morning.  We’d have killed for a pizza last night too (rather than the tinned paella we had which lacked both taste and texture).

And we’re off, passed PERPIGNAN and towards the coast, seeing hookers at the side of roads again (v.weird).  We drove down a strip of road with a lake on one side and the Mediterranean Sea on the other, very spectacular (although Hubs said the lake smelt like a fart).  Up through NARBONNE and BEZIERS, but we didn’t see any ‘campings’ signs. 

We stopped at the tourist office in SETE to ask for directions to the nearest campsite, and the English-speaking girls sent us all the way back down the coast and passed the lake to MARSEILLAN PLAGE again.  The campsite there is like Butlins but without all the fun stuff, but we were tired and booked in for the night anyway.

26€!  For one night!  AND they make you wear a blue wristband so the security men don’t haul you off for trespassing.  There’s no water tap or electricity hook-up either, and they charge 9€ for half an hour’s wi-fi!

I’m not saying the place is naff, but its full of gypsy caravans running washing machines under tarpaulin.  And if you survive crossing the busy dual carriageway outside of camp to get to the beach, you then have to literally rock climb down to the sea because there aren’t any steps or a path.  Managed to dip toes in the water, then stubbed them against the rocks climbing back up again.

Had burger and chips from one of the tiny shops on site.  My burger was pink, but I was that hungry I ate it anyway.  Later, taking full advantage of the prevalence of junk food nearby, we had a pizza too.

Went back to our tent before the rain started in earnest, snuggling into our sleeping bag to keep warm (erm, isn’t this supposed to be the South of France?  Are we cursed with bad weather or something?  We turn up at places and they’re arid, crisp with dryness, but by the time we leave the place is a swamp.)

As we lay there, in the sleeping bag, reading, Hubs said “I don’t know which is loudest, the howling wind and lashing rain, or the express train roaring passed every 15 minutes.”  We watched the tent contort around us.  In our haste to put the tent up we hadn’t hung the inner bedroom tent, so it was berluddy freezing (hadn’t thought about the drafts coming in under the doors).  Slept pitifully.

* The receptionist at the camp we left this morning couldn’t get my credit card to work (we’re using the card now to save on the cash we’re carrying).  I thought I’d ring my bank before paying for our stay on this site in case there were any problems (they’ve put a stop on my card due to ‘unusual transactions’ when I’ve been abroad before).  Having gone through the set menu of ‘Press one for…’, I was then put on hold (at international rates on the mobile phone).  I then spoke to a real human bean, who asked me some security questions to confirm identity, including ‘What was the amount of my last transaction’.  I couldn’t remember my last transaction and rifled frantically through my purse looking at receipts.  I was then told they couldn’t help me and I had to ring back later.

Like bollocks! 

I put all my receipts in order and rang back, spoke to someone else who didn’t ask me any security questions at all and immediately told me there was no problem with my credit card – the campsite receptionist had simply been inept.  I was relieved, but also annoyed… there I was, stuck in some foreign country, trying to get my bank to tell me if my credit card was okay.  Tsk.

Campsite: Camping le Catellas, Marseillan Plage (nr Sete)
Utter crap, very Butlins, rock climbing to beach – 1/10

DAY 21 – Tuesday 15 June
MARSEILLAN PLAGE (nr Sete) to LANGOGNE – 122 miles

After a restless night on our tiny strip of sand, occasionally woken by people walking passed arguing furiously in a foreign language, we packed in a rush and, once I’d retrieved my passport from the ancient security guard at the gate, we raced off with a sigh of relief.  What a crap, overpriced campsite.

Drove up through SETE again, seeing a Municipal campsite on the other side which the tourist office neglected to tell us about (looked nice, too).  Drove through MONTPELLIER (busy), NIMES (even busier), then away from all the frantic madness to ALES.

Its much prettier away from the coast.  I don’t think I like the South of France much at all, its too commercialised (and industrial away from the beaches).  We like the quiet places, the scenic places, driving through National Parks of stunning beauty, down winding roads up mountains, to MENDES, where we had to stop because Hubs’ back is really playing up now.  Walked around, admiring the magnificent cathedral (which was well impressive).  It was lunchtime, so everything was shut.  Despite being here for three weeks, lunchtime closedown still catches us by surprise because we’re so geared to sandwiches shops being open and busy.  We popped into a kebab shop (because we recognised the word ‘kebab’), and the man behind the counter seemed surprised when we asked for two – he’d only just put the meat on to cook for tonight.

We drove on towards LE PUY EN VELAY.  There’s a lot more campsites around here than there was when we came down the other side of the country, maybe because there are more National Parks over here.  Filled the car up with diesel for only the third time, and drove on through the intermittent downpours.

At one point a thick mist descended, so heavy you couldn’t see anything at all, and I started making ‘creatures from another dimension’ noises from The Mist film (“Don’t you dare break down here!” I hissed at Hubs).

Looked for a campsite, Hubs dismissing a few simply because he didn’t like the look of their roadsigns!  We pulled in at one, which appeared to be a run-down farmhouse, and Hubs quickly reversed out again.  The next one, which we could see from the road above, consisted entirely of old caravans and grass that hadn’t seen a mower for quite some time.  This was also dismissed – Hubs can be a fussy bugger sometimes (and he keeps sweeping out the tent using a specially-bought dustpan and brush, and he’s mentioned getting a mini vacuum cleaner… all very worrying traits not noticed during the last 10 years).

Around LANGOGNE we eventually pulled into a place beside a lake that looked like a boating club and hotel, but they had a campsite too… and a restaurant.  “Tres expensive,” I said, but actually it wasn’t.  ‘Muddy field’ I thought, but wrong again; we were given directions to the camping area at the top of a hill with quite stunning views of the lake.  A hawk flew directly over us as we parked, which I took as a good sign.

Hubs, bad-backed, pointed at things with his walking stick

Hubs actually kissed the grass pitch, having hammered in tent pegs in rock or sand the last few days.  Both of us rushed off to the showers as our bodies haven’t seen running water for over 48 hours – I certainly wasn’t showering at the last campsite, I just wanted to get out of there.  Never felt so filthy in my life, my hair was stiff with sand.

Hubs walked all the way down the hill to book a table at the restaurant, and almost expired walking back up again – his back is still hurting, and I’m not surprised after putting up and taking down the tent so many times.  I got dressed up (in a skirt that sheds sequins… so at least we’d be able to find our way back to the tent after a couple of drinks).  While we waited for 7.30, we admired the view and read a while, sipping cup-a-soup to take the edge off our hunger.  We actually drove down the hill to the restaurant, figuring we’d be too full to walk up it afterwards.

Food was lovely, a set three-course dinner, simple but tasty, and only 12€ each.

Getting back into the car afterwards and driving passed the restaurant up the hill was a bit embarrassing with all the other diners watching us through the windows (“Duck!” I told Hubs, and our ‘empty’ car idled passed them all).

Texted Small Son tonight: ‘We’re on our way back, but don’t get the cleaners in just yet, it’ll take us a week’.  He replied: ‘You can come through the door now and everything is tidy.  Had to buy dog food’.  “Buy dog food?” said Hubs, frowning, “That bag usually lasts him six weeks!”  So we’ll have a very fat dog when we get back.

Farkin freezing all night, sleeping bag has all the warmth of tissue paper.

Campsite: Les Terrasses du Lac, Langogne (2 nights: 30€)
Very nice, fantastic view of lake, own restaurant, rural area – 10/10

DAY 22 – Wednesday 16 June
DAY OFF: LANGOGNE

Woke up to the magnificent view of the lake, but sadly the weather is still against us; grey and drizzly.  When I breathed out, there was steam.  Sat inside our tent just chilling (literally) for a while.  It’s a  lovely site, so peaceful.  Shame about the heavy clouds obliterating the surrounding view.

Yeah, I know the sky's bloo here, but this was a five minute window of opportunity to take a pic, then it lashed down again

Backpackers trudged heavily up the hill in the pouring rain and set up miniature tents next to ours.  That isn’t what I call fun.

A couple who arrived in the biggest campervan I’ve ever seen (its windscreen was like a coach) came rushing over to us crying “Oh we didn’t know you were British, we’ve just seen the GB sticker on your car.”  They were dead posh, from Herefordshire don’t you know – the type of people who wouldn’t normally speak to us ‘commoners’ (honestly, that was the impression we got).  They told us all about their campervan, that it had a ‘garage’ in the back where they kept their two scooters, and complaining that they could only get French TV on their satellite TV.  Their view isn’t as good as ours thought (nah, nah), campervans are in a different area to tents.  In fact, when the rain stopped for a brief period, loads of people stood in front of our tent taking pictures of the lake before it pissed down again (while we simply sat outside admiring the view from the comfort of our chairs).

Drove to the nearest supermarket in search of our favourite tent meal, Dinde Casserole (because it has some taste… I’m dying a death with my crappoid taste-buds).  The first time we ate it we couldn’t identify the meat in it… rabbit, or possibly horse.  We actually looked it up on the internet, and it was turkey.  We scoured the tins on the shelves, just as the overhead lights went off.  They were closing for lunch!  “I’ll search for the Dinde!” I cried to Hubs, “You go and grab some milk!”  Then I spotted the precious tins and tossed three into our trolley.  At last, food that tastes!

Had to visit nearest chemist for painkillers for Hubs’ back… just keep taking the drugs, dude.

Had a drive around later, through country villages.  They sure like their signs here in France.

Quite hard to concentrate on driving when you're faced with so much signage everywhere

Didn’t eat in the restaurant tonight, had tinned Dinde instead! (mostly, it has to be said, because we couldn’t face the walk down the hill and back again).

DAY 23 – Thursday 17 June
LANGOGNE to somewhere nr AUXERRE

Hubs’ back is really playing up now, he wants to get as far north as possible today.  I think he wants to go home.

Stopped at MONTROND LES BAINS (after a bit of a detour).  Hubs took a wrong turn in McDonald’s and flew passed the drive-in counters doing at least 20mph (you should have seen the faces of the assistants as we whizzed by).  Inside, the bloke serving us our burgers spoke better English than we could speak French, which was a little embarrassing.  At last, wi-fi! 

We’ve seen loads of signs for McDonald’s on our travels, but haven’t actually seen that many.  Its almost like France has said to McDs “Okay, you can have 10 outlets in the whole of the country, but not on any main roads, we don’t want our citizens to be ruined by fast food”.

Eventually found a campsite.  Its nice, but the ‘residents’ make it seem a bit Village of the Damned – our smiles are met with startled looks (have they not seen ‘foreigners’ before?)  We saw a dog kept in its own tiny tent outside a campervan.

Just look at the drenched-ness of that grass, it was a BOG

Pissed it down as we started to put the tent up, and the grass pitch turned into a veritable quagmire.  As I stood inside, hurriedly putting the bedroom bit up, I heard a loud cry from outside.  It was Hubs.  He’d totally knackered his back hammering in the tent pegs.  He was in agony.  So much so that he lay down flat on the wet tent floor, groaning in pain.

I splashed through puddles of mud to the car to retrieve the most important bags, and then sat in the tent, listening to the rain, while Hubs groaned.  We were filthy, like mud monsters, and cold, and miserable.  My feet were wrinkled like when you’ve sat in the bath for too long.

It was then, as Hubs lay groaning on the floor waiting for the painkillers to kick in and I dripped in a chair, that we thought ‘We ain’t enjoying this no more’.  I could have cried.  And so could Hubs.

Waited for the rain to stop so we could retrieve the rest of the stuff from the car without drowning (including the cooker so we could eat something hot), but it didn’t, so we just sat there in our drenched tent.  This was a campsite that had clearly been built on floodland.

A caravan pulled up right opposite us, despite there being lots of other pitches.  The driver glared at us, even when we nodded and smiled and waved – maybe we’d pinched his ‘special place’ or something, who knew, we just felt his animosity wafting towards us.

Eventually risked the monsoon and dragged the cooker in, treating ourselves to a tin of Dinde and a bloody stiff drink.  Hauled ourselves into the sleeping bag, which was soaking wet (and we’re always so careful with it).

Not a good night’s sleep.

Campsite: Not sure, somewhere near Auxerre, we were too road weary by then.
Nice site, bit muddy when wet, but excellent toilet facilities – 8/10

DAY 24 – Friday 18 June
Somewhere nr AUXERRE to CALAIS… and home – 570 miles

Woke up, damp and wrinkled, and without saying a word we both knew that we’d had enough.  Packed our damp belongings in the car and set off at 8am, Hubs still in agony.

We just went for it!

Right, we're jolly well going home... in the fog

In the map book there was a ‘scenic route’ around Paris that would take us north, but Hubs jumped straight onto the toll motorway… I could tell by the set of his face that there would be no argument about this.

I thought it would take us a couple of days to make it home, but Hubs was like a man possessed.  He kept his foot pressed to the floor and ate up the miles.

Today was a bit of a blur of motorways and speed.  We came off one toll motorway and discovered that all the booth operators were on strike, so we drove straight through without paying (which cheered Hubs up no end), and on to the next one.  We just bombed it.

We made it to Calais and hauled ourselves out of the car, stiff as boards.  We asked for two ferry tickets to England, and the Frenchman at the counter, with a perfectly straight face, asked for 110€.  I nearly passed out.  90 quid to get home!  Hubs fanned me a bit and said “Don’t blow it now, wife, hand over the credit card and let’s go home”.

On the ferry we rushed to the restaurant, where, to my utter delight, they were serving curry (yeeehaaaa!).  “Three weeks in France,” I told the serving girl, “And I haven’t had a single curry!”  A man next to me sneerily muttered “The great British meal”, the snob (wonder how he’d like having no sense of smell and barely any sense of taste).

I texted Small Son: ‘We’ll be home later’.  He replied, rather hurriedly: ‘The house isn’t as tidy as normal’.  So what happened to the ‘You could walk in now and it’d be tidy’?  I texted back: ‘Don’t worry, its not as if we’re house-proud or anything’.  I imagined him running round with a vacuum cleaner in one hand and a phone in the other shouting ‘Help me, they’re coming home!’

Once on home turf, Hubs was off again, despite me suggesting we camp somewhere for the night instead of doing another 200 miles.  The roads seemed terribly busy after the serenity of the French ones, and of course it was raining.

Hubs drove on auto-pilot.

But coming home was wonderful.  Solid furniture!  And the house wasn’t bad at all.  The dog, however, had shifted allegiance in our absence and was now besotted with Small Son’s girlfriend, which was surprising as he’s supposed to be a ‘man’s dog’ and merely tolerates my presence in the household.  He whined at the door when she left, the traitor.

Its good to be back.  Going away is brilliant, but coming home is even better.

We drove from M all the way up to A again in One Day! (550 miles!)
Travelled a total of 3,100 miles in 24 days, staying at 12 campsites along the way

Things we’ve learned on our travels:

-    If you have an incurable addiction to fresh French croissants (a) you’re gonna get real fat real fast, and (b) the car will look like a mobile boulangerie that’s been blown up.

-    Shops aren’t open on Sundays – which is a real bummer if you don’t know.

-    Carrefour and Intermarche are cheaper than Leclarc supermarket (and Intermarche is the only place to find tins of Dinde casserole).

-    Hubs is very good at driving on the wrong side of the road – he’s an excellent driver.

-    The AA Roadmap of Europe is utterly useless for wriggling down coastline roads.  We abandoned ours after four days and only used it for reference when planning a route from main town to main town.

-    Use main roads to get from A-B, scenic routes will take you half a lifetime and probably cost you your marriage.  It also means the passenger gets to stare at the amazing scenery and not the hated mapbook all the time.

-    My handwriting is appalling.

-    The e:can (or, as I lovingly refered to it, the e:can’t) car convertor is crap for charging laptops and dodgy charging a camera – don’t waste yer money.

-    Cheese sections in supermarkets are heaven on earth.  Cool boxes without ice are the devil’s playground.  Save yourself the effort of chasing live dairy produce across the campsite and buy an electric coolbox.

-    Hubs sure can talk!  Excited and nervous, he didn’t stop talking for the first two days… I didn’t think we were going to make it!

-    Take elastic bands or hair ties to separate the tent poles, even if they’re colour-coded – they get tangled together in the bag.

-    Take some good music to listen to.  We took Katie Melua’s ‘The House’ (which Hubs declared to be “Kate Bush bonkers”) and Mick Bubble.  Country music also slipped in there somehow, which only has a few themes, none of them terribly jolly; my dog died, my horse died, my truck died, my wife died, I found love, I lost love, I found love again, and lost it again.

-    A small bucket is useful when camping.  Fill it with water to cool down drinks, stick a bag in it to use as a rubbish bin, and use it first thing in the morning when you don’t have time to sprint to the toilet blocks (well cleaned out afterwards, of course).

-    When you’ve found a campsite, set everything up and then joyously dash out in the car to find the nearest supermarket, try to (a) remember the name of your campsite, and (b) remember roughly where it is, so you have some chance of finding it again.

-    The whole of France shuts for lunch for three hours.  Have they not heard of the shift system?  Its very inconvenient.

-    We always know, without saying a word, when its time to move on to the next campsite because we’ll unconsciously start packing things into bags.

-    Municipal campsites are brilliant.  They’re run by the local council to bring tourists into the area, so they have to maintain high standards and they’re cheap. Viva le camping municipals!

Arguments we had in the car:

“It looked closer on the map.”

“Look out for camping signs.”
“I have nothing else to do but look.”

“Have you seen a camping sign?”
“Yes, and I’m enjoying not telling you about it!”

“Are you sure you saw a camping sign?”
“No, I’m making it up to deliberately irritate you!”

“Which way?”
“Dunno, all looks foreign to me.”

“Which way?”
“I don’t know, I’m quite busy having a hot flush at the moment.”

“Which way?”
“Left.”
“Is that your left or the real left?”
“That way!”
“So, right then.”

“What do you think of this place then?”
“I think someone, somewhere, is picking a banjo.”