Honfleur to La Suze Sur Sarthe via Ambrieres Les Vallees – Wednesday 26th-Friday 28th September

We leave Honfleur after a brisk walk around the Harbour in the morning sunlight. This is a place we should return to.

We are heading down towards Gorron in the Orne (a department of Normandy) where we have chosen a campsite to hole up in before we go on an appointment the following morning. Because of this commitment in the morning we are largely restricted to travelling during the day and prepping this evening. Thankfully, the campsite we are aming for has no bar. This can for once only be a good thing.

The weather had started off bright, clear and sunny, but as we get under way this changes to ominous dark clouds. The wind is also blowing a houley again. The journey, while tedious, passes without incident.

We arrive at the Le Parc de Vaux campsite and all seems nicey nicey, friendly young campsite woman installs us for €17 for the night including wi-fi, showers, electric etc. All is good. Two minutes later all is not good. We choose a nice pitch only to have a friendly Brit FCVT come springing out of nowhere (like a garden gnome come to life) to warn us not to park there as they’d got stuck in the mud there earlier and had all manner of trouble extricating themselves. We thank him and move on. Upon trying to plug the leccy in we discover that it doesn’t appear to be working, mr gnome magically materialises again and informs us that only a handful of hook ups are working, we duly trail our cable up hill, through hedges and down dale to secure our supply. This is not going particularly well so far. We settle in for a bit of wi-fi nerding only to discover that it doesn’t work. One has to sit near reception to secure a signal. This we duly do and last all of ten minutes before the heavens open. We give in, damp and cold and wet, hot showers and comfort food are needed. Sadly it is not to be. The hot water supply is busticated, cold showers only. This is really starting to take the piss; does nothing work here??? For €17 we have basically secured ourself a parking spot that we may or may not be able to get out of, electricity that needs an expedition to find, wi-fi that doesn’t work unless you’re pretty much sat on campsite woman’s knee, and cold water. We’d be better off in a Mcdonalds car park. It appears we have found ourselves at campsite calamitous. Noush has had enough and marches up to reception to complain only to find that it’s closed. Quel surprise. Thwarted we hunker in the van and sulk for a bit. Thankfully somebody finds a phone number and rings up to complain about everything being broken. Next thing you know we spy the watery beam of a torch attached to which is some little French dude who is padding round in the dark and the rain trying to fix the fact that all the electrics on the site are down and apologising for the lack of hot water. Bless him. Four star camp site my arse.

Anyone relying on the French to provide some lighting in the bog beware. We have noticed on countless occasions the amount of toilets and sanitary blocks where the lights don’t work, or there is some strange way of coaxing them on. What is this masonic manoeuvre we need to perform to get the lights on? Maybe the French like the whole experience of performing their ablutions in the dark? Or perhaps it’s because some of the toilet blocks leave so much to be desired, especially the Turkish hole in the floor jobbies, that it is a visual assault and is deemed off putting? Either way, we have both earned our Masters (or Stripes!) in ‘Brail Ablutions’.

Thursday 27^th September

Calamity campsite finally comes good in the morning with lights that work and hot showers. The appointment we have is for late morning, despite this Noush is, as usual, slow to greet the day. After much strong coffee we get going. As we leave the Campsite we drop into reception to ask if campsite woman would kindly print off some spreadsheets and things for us. Luckily for her she agrees to do so, thereby avoiding the dressing down of her camping career and an “accidental” poo tank emptying incident in the drive.

All smiles we zoom off to our appointment. Hours later and after what we think has been something of a success (updates on this will no doubt follow later, but for the moment we are staying shtum) we head off towards Le Mans.

We are aiming for La Suze Sur Sarthe (12kms south west of Le Mans) where Jon knows a camping area. In fact this has been the campsite for the numerous trips to Le Mans, enough said on this, there may be Gendarmerie reading. An hour and a half later we have past Le Mans and arrived at La Suze. The Aire is packed surprisingly, but we manage to squeeze Onzo in. The deal here is for €3 you get 24 hrs parking, with water and electrical hook up. Nice. All is going well until we have the misfortune to meet Aire Mayor.

Aire Mayor is the sort of officious droopy trout mouthed hunch back that can usually be found stumping around and sticking his big red-veined bulbous nose into other people’s business. The very minute we approach the hook up, cable in hand, he lurches over waving a finger in peremptory admonishment. We are advised in no uncertain terms that we aren’t allowed to plug our cable in, despite the fact that there is an available plug right there, right under his oh-so- bulbous nose. The rudeness with which he has greeted us renders us literally speechless and he leaves us somewhat aghast as he stumps back to his camper. Arsehole. We think about digging our heels in but agree we can survive quite easily on the 12 volt battery for the night and get hook up in the morning when others leave. Let’s hope Aire Mayor is one of the first to go.

View from our spot at La Suze sur Sarthe camping Aire. Beware Aire Mayor!

To get over the shock of meeting Aire Mayor, we decide to go the Bar St Louis (frequented in Le Mans visits) for some wi-fi and a quick livener. Jon gets recognised by the owner (some nervous moments pass) before smiles prevail and a round or three of pressions restore our humour. Some time later we creep back to the Van, trying hard not to disturb Aire Mayor before turning in.

The bar, scene of much nefarious behaviour on previous Le Mans visits (see below!)

The adjacent campsite (sadly closed), scene of much nefarious behaviour on previous Le Mans visits...

Jumieges to Honfleur – Tuesday 25th September

We both awoke with the horn this morning, and not the agreeable sort either. This was the rude awakening of the Croissant person arriving to sell all sorts of pastry delights. Matey in the van went round every part of the campsite with what amounted to a ships horn blaring out to advise you he/she was here. Pain au Chocolate indeed. The latest brand of Lidl coffee soothed our nerves before we ventured into Jumieges for a mooch about. We were intending to go to the Abbey but the entrance fee was high so we put up with peering through the gates. Quite an astonishing sight, but sadly destroyed by the French Revolutionaries. Talk about shitting on your own chips.

Honfleur is the destination of choice today. Or at least that was the plan. While driving along (or attempting to, hurricane gale force nine, going nowhere fast), Noush realises she has been looking at the wrong place on the map and is actually taking us to Harfleur, not Honfleur. Not one word about women and maps, ok, not one. Thankfully through a bit of fancy footwork ce n’est pas un catastrophe and is indeed a bit of a blessing as we get to go over the Pont de Tancarville which, while proving nearly impossible to stay on due to hurricanes and great height not mixing too well, provided some pretty spectacular scenery for a mere €3.10.

We find the obligatory McDonalds for some wi-fi and more coffee. Once again wi-fi service is swift, coffee is yummy, staff are polite, place is immaculate. Would that everything in life worked as efficiently. Have our standards slipped to say such things about a fast food joint? Couple of hours of admin later and after a bit of minor rage about the ineptitude of certain people who can’t seem to understand the simplest of instructions (why can’t they be more like McDonalds and just get it done??), we arrive at Honfleur and what may well be the biggest Aire in the whole world ever.

This is more like a vast Camper Van production plant than an Aire. The book of occasional fiction tells is that it can cater for 200 Campers. For once we agree. It’s also cheap at €10 which includes electrical hook up, and it is a 5 minute walk into Honfleur along the harbour. Perhaps Ronald is influencing more than wi-fi and coffee today.

We have a minor performance with the pay machine which wants €10 in change. We only have €9.80. Damn it. The van is searched in a military fashion, every draw and nook and cranny. Surely there is €0.20? If there is (and there was the other day but now it’s gone) we can’t find it. Noush spots some fellow Brits staring blankly at said cash machine and goes over cap in hand for the change and they kindly oblige. Result. 5 minutes later we see them walking past the Van and hear them cursing their lack of change to feed the machine. Had to laugh.

We go for a wander into Honfleur, it all looks very inviting in the afternoon sunshine, said sunshine holds true from the van to the start of the town (a whole five minutes), but the very minute we set foot on the pretty cobbled streets the sky turns black and the heavens open. We have no option but to dive under a café awning, along with everyone else and seek shelter. What results is an impromptu flood. Noush has unfortunately chosen a seat next to a drain which promptly overflows and swamps her feet. Snotty useless waitress woman is no help, but we are beaten at this point and retreat inside. Is this Honfleur or on pleut?

Thankfully the downpour doesn’t last and we are able to escape some five minutes later. The streets of Honfleur are cobbled and while pretty and charming are a total death trap when wet, every other step is a narrowly avoided flip flop fail. There are a plethora of cafes, all towered over by long, tall, skinny houses that are reminiscent of Dutch architecture. The influence is marked. We stroll around and admire this charming little port. It’s positively teeming with people. The town is full of art galleries and bric a brac shops, all centred around the small harbour, all very chic-boutique. In the distance you can see (and hear) the industrial port of Le Harve but this somehow doesn’t detract from the charm.

After another culinary delight back in Onzo (yep you guessed, Lidl again – this has to stop) we make the most of another break in the weather and head for the beach. There are more beautiful parts of France but we are surprised by the delights that parts of the north of France have to offer. So much tourist traffic must just leave the ports and head further south, perhaps they don’t know what they’re missing. The beach is beautiful and almost deserted, we walk for ages and barely see a soul: just the occasional couple out with a dog and the passage of vast ships almost silently gliding by to keep us company.

At the entrance to the beach and along the promenade back to Onzo we see a few memorials to mariners and we give acknowledgment to the history of the place and to those in peril, lost at sea.

Jaulzy to Jumieges Monday 24th September

Mileage landmark – trip to date 4200 miles!

Blog stat – just over 30k words – eek!

After a few very strong coffees with Momma at La Rose des Sables (this was 9am and the chap on the next table was tucking into a bottle of Rose!) we leave for Beauvais, halfway between Jaulzy and Rouen.

The weather is frankly awful and has been since late last night. Stormy winds and rain. Last night we watched a spectacular lightning display for a good half hour out of the Van window. Thankfully it didn’t get too close! The wind is so strong we begin to fear being tipped over. We notice a large number of articulated Lorries parked up on the side of the road – is this a hint to stop? Regardless, we soldier on, albeit it very slowly. When we are not approaching a list of some alarming degrees we are struggling to get anything above 50mph. Tedious to say the least. It seems a little unfair that you never have a helpful tailwind! Having said this, Onzo has developed a new characteristic (or ailment – depends on how you look at it) which we name ‘sudden unexpected zoom syndrome’ (SUZS). This is particularly noticeable today. It normally materialises on long flat sections of road that are so numerous in France: (as for straight roads the French would give the Romans a serious run for their money) after struggling, barely plodding along all morning, for no apparent reason we start to travel at a much higher speed. No warning, no change in conditions, it just happens. Grrr.

The book of occasional fiction tells us Beauvais has a grand Gothic Cathedral, amongst the highest in existence. On top of that it is famous for Gobelin tapestries. All sounds good. No one mentioned the horrific nauseating smell that lingers in the air all around the City. As we arrived we could smell it and as we walked to the Cathedral and into the Centre. We can only liken it to the smell that instantly hits you when you open a tin of cat or dog food. That sickly, pooey smell that somehow manages to envelope the room – yummy. Well, it was that. It was so bad, we decided to leave. Anyway, the Cathedral was shut for Lunch!!

The closed Cathedral

We decide to push on and head for Gornay en Bray. Camping is shown here in the book and it will provide the ideal stop over for our push to the Northern coast tomorrow, Honfleur being the place in mind. Gornay is also a disappointment, so we carry on. After leaving Gornay and heading towards Rouen we see a fair sized hill in the distance with a wind farm on top. Bearing in mind this is probably one of the windiest days we can remember, we found it odd that not one of the turbines was working? Why is this? Being British we couldn’t help but wonder if it is the wrong type of wind perhaps?

We spot a campsite on the outskirts of Rouen that is 2 star and may do the trick: St Leger du Bourg Denis (this is not the name of the campsite, but the nearby town). Word of warning, don’t stay here. We were greeted by some freaky in-bred dude who wanted far too much for what resembled a cow field with a dirty brick built shed. Apparently the shed thingy had a shower in it. This was extra though (€1.60) and you really wouldn’t wanna. Freaky in-bred dude looked similar to Rab C Nesbitt except with a bigger and redder nose and equally incomprehensible. Think food stains on shirt and grubby nicotined fingers. We presented him with a driving licence as I.D as requested which he stared at for ages then limped back into his shack, cradling it like it was DVLA gold. (Hello clone driving licence and someone else called Anouska!) We left pretty sharpish after managing to get it back.

Word of warning for those trying to exit Rouen towards Le Havre while avoiding motorways. Get the sat nav out cos it’s somewhat tricky. After several near misses and a lot of swearing and confusion, we find ourselves (admittedly through sheer luck and no design of our own) on the right road. Things instantly improve. The countryside gets prettier with little coastal looking villages bordering the Seine and we pootle along, eyes peeled for a campsite. We find one in the little hamlet of Jumieges. Ancient ruined abbey, beautiful little park, charming village, 4 star campsite for €20, all is nice. (Take note freaky in-bred dude). We arrive in sunshine, the first we’ve seen all day, but as soon as we decide to venture to the village, naturally, the heavens open. Sodden, we retreat to Onzo and get stuck into the Sunday Times and a bit of plotting and scheming for the week. Unfortunately weather stops play and we remain confined to barracks for the evening.

Ruins at Jumieges, reputedly some of the most beautiful in France, second only to Tournus and that is debatable.

Soissons, Vic sur Aisne to Jaulzy – Saturday 22nd and Sunday 23rd September

Ow. Again. A slow start to the day, but then freezing cold inhospitable swimming pool sorts us all out. Jon nearly breaks his coccyx on the slide, but all is well with the world. We arrange to convene after lunch and go and have a wander round Soissons. There is some talk about going Karting, but on arrival we find that the track is being dominated by a mini Schumacher, whose got a massive zoom on and refuses to stop (mind the last bend!), so we abandon that plan.

Soissons is small and pretty, we can’t go into the Cathedral as there’s a wedding on the go. Amelia sees the bride in all her finery and asks if this is a princess castle? Sweet. It did all look very fairy tale.

Spot the teeny bride

We have a brief mooch around (most of the town is closed due to a fire) and nip to a bar for the most expensive pint of Heineken ever. 4 drinks were nearly €20. The Bar was absolutely packed. Recession anyone?

Sunday sees us leave the campsite and travel the grand distance of 5kms to Jaulzy. Jon knows the area from a previous fishing trip. The week of fishing, (which has gone down in local legend with the lake owner and local bar) was 2 years ago and unbelievably is situated in the next village down the road from the campsite. Fate is definitely on side in this instance. The lake owner (Matt) has kindly agreed to spend some time with us to educate us in the intricacies that make up French bureaucracy and the pitfalls of buying a business in France. We spend a very pleasant hour with him and come away armed with much useful information. We adjourn to the local bar, La Rose de Sables (with which Jon is astonishingly familiar) for some thinking time. The local brew Bavik is somewhat savage and should only be consumed in small and manageable amounts. This was not factored into the equation on Jon’s previous fishing trip here and the results where somewhat catastrophic. Let’s just say that four collapses into the lake, a broken leg, broken ribs and one wheel chair accounted for a somewhat legendary status amongst the locals. Jon pleads innocence which is borne out by the welcome we receive upon entering the bar.

Momma, la patron, greets Jon like a long lost son. Food and beer are produced, plus the kind offer of parking in the car park at the back of the Bar. French hospitality knows no bounds it would appear. Thankfully all limbs remained unbroken and we steered clear of the lake.

Moma and her Grand Garcon...

After much attempting to chat with Momma at 100mph French we retire to Onzo, all happy and looked after. Tomorrow sees us heading further north towards the Normandy coast. A week of hard work lies ahead as we embark on the the next phase of this journey. 

Premery to Vic-sur-aisne via Auxerre Friday 21st September

The nights have turned really cold and we awake to one of those beautiful crisp clear cold autumnal mornings. After a peaceful quiet night and some excellent sleep (no doubt helped by the evil liquor) all cosied up in Onzo we are ready to zoom north. After a bit of admin (it’s not all play, honest!) and some reyt nice croissants we wave farewell to lovely campsite and hit the road.

Auxere is only a short hop north (65 km ish) and the journey is beautiful. A few gentle hill climbs, but nothing to startle Onzo, the countryside is like some perfect pastoral picture. The farmers are harvesting and the fields lie dusty and scorched for mile after mile. Bordered by thick forests and only the occasional old farmhouse to be seen, this is truly rural France. The difference is marked from earlier in the year when all the crops were growing, no there are no more nodding sunflowers, the corn fields are either already harvested or are looking slightly exhausted and sunburnt. It’s all tremendously beautiful, but you can see the labour that goes into maintaining such vast tracts of agricultural land. We find out that France is the largest agricultural exporter in the EU and is second only to the United States globally. When you drive through the land like this it’s not hard to see why.

We arrive at Auxerre and instantly find a place to park down by the river. It’s free and shady and perfect, thank you Auxerre! There are a few brits here, doing things to their house boats, they’re the most we’ve seen so far, but in no way do they impinge on our enjoyment of the city, they seem mostly boat bound. Auxerre is a delight. Beautiful Cathedral and lovely old streets, medieval houses bowed down with window boxes full of cascading flowers.

The city is blissfully empty of tourists, cafes are still lively and fun, but off season is definitely the way to do things. We visit the cathedral and have it almost entirely to ourselves, this somehow adds gravitas to the experience and we are struck by the solemnity of the moment. To top it off the organist begins to play, haunting and atmospheric, it’s a real treat, the icing on the cake. We dip into the holy water, thankful for life and love and hopeful for the future.  

The city is a bit like a mini Florence in some respects. It feels very well heeled, lots of boutiques, expensive shop windows and stylish people floating about, we guess that being so close to Paris there’s a bit of money in the air around here. We stretch to a tin of sardines and a baguette and dine overlooking the river, with the Cathedral lit by the sun on the opposite bank. Life is nice. Sadly we must go.

The unusually named marmite bar... you either love it or you hate it..

Our lunchtime view of Auxerre from the bridge

We leave Auxere with sun shining, but this quickly takes a turn for the worse, as does the scenery. We are confronted with mile after mile of arrow straight roads and flat countryside, dismal linear towns, bleak moody skies and then it starts to rain. We make the executive decision and decide to take advantage of crappy weather to make up some miles and get north. Jon’s mates Lard and Sarah and their nipper Amelia (to whom Jon is Godfather) are staying up near Soissons and we decide to zoom up to them and drop in for a bit of a Friday night rendez vous. By coincidence we have an appointment set up for the Sunday with a guy that runs his own business in France. We have an inkling that they might be in the same sort of area, (more of this later). Miles and more miserable miles later we finally arrive at their campsite. It’s vast!! We honestly didn’t know that camping could be so big. It’s so big, in fact, that when we ring Lard to tell them that we’ve arrived they have to get in the car to come and find us because they’re living at the opposite end of the site to where we are! Campsite ENORME!! It’s got three lakes, three pools, archery, zip wires the lot. We thought we’d seen Centre Parcs on steroids, but this is something else entirely. There are also loads of brits, more here than we’ve seen on the journey in total, but it’s got everything you could ever ask for, happy days.

We pop round to Lard and Sarah’s for a quick drink and catch up before hitting the hay after epic 200 mile drive. 8 bottles of wine later, sigh, getting lost trying to find Onzo in the dark (we’re on a campsite and still we get lost!), we finally manage to find bed. A thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining evening, little Amelia being a poppet, massive thanks to Lard and Sarah for their hospitality and for all the fun. 

Lapalisse to Premery – Thursday 20th September

Freezing cold morning! Crisp and alpine in its sharp blue clarity we decide that it’s far too cold to go and investigate the market that is setting up and decide to bail in the cool of the morning (Onzo approves) and get a wriggle on. We also have a major win in that we’ve established that Onzo’s central heating actually works! Tiny heater belting out loads of warmth, we’re warmed up in no time and feel fighting fit to attack the day. Zoom!!

We make excellent time and arrive at Premery where (again!!) we find excellent campsite the Plan D’Eau. For 11€ we get an awesome pitch, again bang next to a river, hook up, wi-fi and within two minutes of the town. The French really do know how to do this camping lark. A lazy sunny day, more fishing (there are, honestly no fish!), a wander round what appears to be a slightly dying town, but charming nonetheless. It’s a lovely day.

We treat ourselves to steak frites in town for dinner, get plied with more evil clear stuff by monsieur le Patron, (we didn’t even ask for it, they seem to just insist!) On this occasion we were instructed to dip a sugar cube in the evil liquor and eat it for additional effects! We decided one or two was enough and left before any further trouble came our way. We weaved our way home to snuggly Onzo, getting lost 2 or 3 times en route! A easy stroll would have seen us home in 5 minutes, our new and improved route exceeded 30 minutes! Tomorrow sees us heading to Auxerre, exciting! 

 

Balbigny to Lapalisse - Wednesday 19th September

EPIC shab. Shab ENORME . Ow. Ow. Ow. Whimper. Although the day dawns beautiful and sunny (the same cannot be said for the two of us), we have to hit the road to try and make some progress northwards. After a quick safety in the bar and fond farewells to Nicole and the two Philippes we get underway. This is extremely painful. Both of us are suffering and it doesn’t look like we’re going to get very far very fast! Determined not to be beaten we persevere nonetheless. The journey is actually remarkably pleasant, easy roads and sunny skies, beautiful scenery, we’re longing to get out and collapse in it. We spot a touristy type sign that promises an Aire and a Chateau and a pretty village, even though we haven’t made quite as much progress as we’d like we both agree that stopping is probably a good plan. Once again we have stumbled across a little gem. The aire is lovely (and free!) and backs onto said Chateau. We have arrived in Lapalisse.

It’s all very pretty and charming. We’re bang next to a river and the town is small and charming. Collapso heaven.

We go for a wander along the river and attempt a bit of Heath Robinson style fishing. Thankfully this doesn’t work as the fish that we very nearly caught was a bit of a monster and we would have struggled somewhat!

Tired and happy we give into the residual shab and have a (ridiculously) early night. 

Boulieu to Balbigny – Tuesday 18th September

The map shows a bright red squiggly line on the only road we can take out of Boulieu. This means it’s steep with hair pin bends. We are near the Massif Central so hills are to be expected – but all we seem to do is climb up monstrous hills. Please let us have a flat road!

Despite the incline the scenery is awesome. We climb through thick pine woods on either side heading towards the delightfully named St Etienne (sadly it’s an industrial forgettable place).There is definitely a hint of the Alps here as we pass  heavily gabled Alpine lodges.

We don’t have a stopping place in mind for this evening, so this is a journey into the unknown. Our only aim is to get near to Roanne (little do we now about what lies in wait!) The weather is awful. The rain is steady, the sky grey and we are passing though instantly forgettable towns. Similar to a journey through Birmingham on a wet November evening. Grim.

We find a campsite: La Route Bleu at Balbigny where we are greeted with a warm welcome and friendly helpfulness from Nicole and Philippe. For €16 we’ve got what seems to be half a country estate to park up in, hook up, there’s a pool, spotless facilities and there’s a river (the Loire) we can fish and everything. C’est bon. Unfortunately it’s still pissing down so we ignore all these delights and head straight for the bar for a quick beer before supper (note, ‘before supper’). The bar is closed when we get there, just les patrons and a mate sitting down to a bottle of red wine; nonetheless they very sweetly welcome us in for a nightcap (just a swift one).

6 hours later we stumble back to the van, totally and utterly ruined by one of the finest examples of French hospitality in the world ever. The two Philippes and Nicole have plied us with all manner of weird and wonderful French booze, (What was that bloody clear stuff??)  There have been tunes, shapes have been thrown and we are armed with a dinner invitation for Friday, where we are due to dine on a freshly shot Boar. For health reasons and commitments further north we have to leave, boo.  Do love the French, a really wonderful fun evening, thanks all!

All starts fairly calmly...

And swiftly degeneratess!

Sad to leave...

Montelimar to Boulieu - Monday 17th September

Both us of sleep badly despite the secluded appearance of the Aire. All night long the bloke next door was driving up and down his gravel drive. On top of that someone decided 5am in the morning was a good time to start up their digger. After a quick trip round the local supermarket and a session on the wi-fi in Mcdonalds (wi-fi spots are surprisingly rare so thank god for Maccies, I’m lovin it – ahem) we move on.

We drive north out of Montelimar, surrounded on all sides by the mountains. Thankfully the road goes straight through the middle and is totally flat, quite a pleasant surprise.

Poor picture, taken from onzo on the move, of the Rhone!

We quickly pick up the Rhone and a very straight forward journey sees us arrive at Andance where we stop for a quick lunch. It’s all very pretty, but there is nothing happening and the weather isn’t great so we decide to push on towards Annonay. Annonay is big and sprawly, but just north we find the village of Boulieu and a very convenient Aire. Being Monday absolutely everything is closed...

Even the locals can't find the boozer! Genuine graffiti. 

The village is lovely, but completely dead – really nothing going on at all, pas de pub, pas de personnes, rien du tout, but it’s no chore to stay and sun ourselves and attempt a bit of admin and life planning over a glass of red. We nip into Annonay in the evening for a bit of wi-fi and a bite to eat and return to the Aire without getting lost once. Honestly. Ahem.

The next day dawns somewhat overcast, but we are cheered by the unbelievable friendliness and charm of the lady at the Maison de la Presse who helps us print and fax some stuff off to the UK. If the world were populated by people such as she then it would be a happy place indeed, a more perfect example of helpfulness and reason surely does not exist.  The weather finally closes in and rain threatens, this is a perfect chance to throw Onzo at, what is hopefully, his last big hill for a while.

Bye bye Boulieu..

Mornas to Montelimar Sunday 16th September

We wave goodbye to Centre parcs campsite after a quick coffee, using the showers and being besieged by flies – never seen so many.  We consulted the book of occasional fiction and decided that we will make a short hop to Montelimar, about 50kms further north.  According to the book there is a cheap and (from the picture) rather pleasant wooded camping car area. This is good news.

Montelimar Aire. Onzo is obscured from view, sadly!

The journey is for once trouble free and seems to take no time. We are travelling in a low lying area surrounded on all sides by steep mountains, almost like being in a volcanic basin. The weather is clear, hot and unlike yesterday, free from the hurricane that hindered our progress. All is good with the World.

We arrive at the aire without mishap, no getting lost, no issues and the aire is every bit as lovely as it looked on the picture. Unfortunately though, the cash point thingy where you pay (a whole €4 for 48hrs) is broken. This, of course, is dreadful news, we are forced to take ourselves out for lunch as consolation.

Montelimar is a pretty place, tree lined boulevards with busy cafes and restaurants all over the place, all pleasantly full and chatty and every now and then a glimpse of the medieval castle Chateau Adhemar, the turrets and towers of which appear unexpectedly at the end of the old quarters narrow streets (can’t escape all this medieval-ness it would seem). 2kg of mussels for lunch leaves us a bit over-satiated and we go for a wander in the park opposite the restaurant to try and recover. The park, however, is not your average park. Part one involves a small and slightly incongruous display of cars and, around the corner, part two involves a weird and unexpected menagerie.

This is not a park as we know it. There is no pissed bloke on a bench or paths with landmines of dog crap. No graffiti or over spilling bins. Instead we get Horses, Chickens, Carp pool and Peacocks. All in a small provincial French Town. We wander round and enjoy the sights, barely able to move after the Moules Frites. On our way back to the camping area (after a swift beer at the local Cuban bar?) we spot the local Medieval Chateau. Further inspection required. This involves a rather steep ascent that Noush hadn’t factored into the Moules ingestion equation, but we both agree that it really would be rude not to.

The Castle is very, very old (Medieval innit) You can wander the ramparts for free which is great, what is not so great is that officious-let-you-in-man (does he think he’s guarding the Holy Grail or something?) neglects to mention that said ramparts are not for the faint of heart or, to be more exact, fat people. What follows is an odd game of chicken..who will stop first and flatten themselves against the edge? Can you sidle past without getting squashed? Will there come a point where there is no option but to reverse? Is this a polite person approaching or will you get unexpectedly taken out by some weird Chateau priorite a l’adroite rule? The views are worth it and we escape unscathed, albeit a bit more expert at breathing in than we were before.

After ramparts and breathing in we stagger back to the camping area for a planning session for tomorrow. Once complete (the exercise is similar in strategy to pinning the tail on a Donkey) we decide to check on Onzo’s latest ailment, a minor oil leak. With bonnet up and Noush under the van, Mr Belgian dude opposite comes over to check everything is ok and offer assistance in all things mechanical. We politely brush the offer off: not knowing that he has in fact built (from scratch) a 9 tonne motor home extraordinaire. After a brief consultation where he casually informs us we have overfilled the Van with oil they decamp to our pitch for one or two beers. Belgian dude and his wife, Hanneke and Peter (very nice peoples) end up staying for some time whilst we discuss everything from motorhomes to the political downsides of mass immigration.

After much talk about how you get up hills in a nine tonne van (slowly) and how on earth he managed to convert an ex coca cola van into anything habitable we are invited over to have a nosey around. Officially Peter is a bit of a genius. Hanneke has already informed us that if Peter sees something he can then recreate/build it, but we are in no way prepared for the interior of this motorhome. The first thing we see is a solid oak dining room table, yes really (probably a sold ninth of the total weight of their vehicle!), but then we notice everything else that Peter has magically made and built in. There’s, a slide out flatscreen tv, an entire built in kitchen (Noush’s kitchen units from Sheffield wouldn’t have covered half of the wall space), including a fridge freezer, an oven, a microwave, a normal functioning sink (FCTVs will know about the ridiculousness of normal camper kitchen taps), the ceiling is so high (think Georgina mansion) that Hanneke has to use steps to get to the overhead kitchen cupboards, this thing is enorme! There’s also a vast storage area hidden behind and underneath the two (yes two) double beds and the built in wardrobes. They’ve got 600 litres worth of liquid storage, it defies belief. Oddly though, they don’t have a shower…but to think that Peter made it, alone at home, in 8 months. It’s mad and brilliant. Much as we love Onzo and he’s our hero, it is with a certain degree of hesitancy that we ask if they’d like to come and have a look round. Hanneke leaps at the chance and Noush plays the only ace in the pack: ‘check out our shower’! Hanneke is graceful and generous. Oh the great unwashed, our only card to play.

We retire to our final box of red wine (Peter drank the beer) and go in search of that park bench, just to make us feel at home. Tomorrow is another day. 

Les Salles sur Verdon to Mornas Saturday 15th September

We finally tear ourselves away from the Gorge. Every excuse to stay longer has been exhausted, including waiting for e mails from any opportunities that are bubbling along. Nothing will happen now until next week, so we must leave. After a final shower in the darkest toilet block ever we go for a rocket fuel coffee in the hotel (yes, we paid Mr Beardy) and leave.

Our route takes us initially though the Verdon National Park. High rocky crags with dense woodland right down to the meandering road. We occasionally come across a lone hunting hound trotting down the road, obviously split from the pack, but making his way back home. Despite the hilly terrain, Onzo seems to be revelling in the cool morning air and we breeze up hills where once we may have dawdled and we eat up the miles. Our plan (if you can call it that) is to get to the main N road and begin to head north. Vaguely in the direction of Lyons, avoiding the Massif Central for obvious reasons and then head towards Vichy. Our plans are notoriously vague, but bearing in mind our appointments, heading north seems sensible.

The first part of the journey takes us through idyllic provincial towns, crumbling shuttered houses, various colourful plants creeping up walls and people drinking Pastis with the paper outside cafes at 10am. Civilised indeed. At this point we are  way out in the countryside but soon we emerge onto the N7 and the road to Aix en Provence. This was to be an intended stop but the sheer volume of queuing traffic and the contrast from the peace of the lake forces the decision to continue. If we don’t make an effort to leave the South of France we may never get away. Onwards is the call.

Avignon comes and goes as we motor on. One small hindrance to the journey is the wind. It is blowing near gale force and actually rocking van quite alarmingly. We’d read about the winds of the Provence and wonder if this is related to the Mistral or Sirocco. It is quite a strange to have such a clear blue hot day and such a strong almost violent wind. (Much laughter in the van as you can imagine!)

Buffeted here and there, (mostly across to oncoming traffic) we enter the region famous for Chateau Neuf du Pape. Noush has (not surprisingly) spotted a potential campsite near to one of the vineyards; it actually mentions this in the directions. It seems like a good idea, but dangers lurk. Namely extreme over indulgence (guaranteed) and significant damage to the budget. The two go hand in hand so reluctantly we drive past. (Protruding bottom lip from Noush for a km or two). As an aside to FCTVs do note that the Aire in Maucoil is NOT in Orange, it’s  South in ChateauNeuf du Pape. Grr to the book what lies. Pout.

To make up for the disappointment of missing out on some of the finest wine available we stop for a quick libation in Senas. Nothing quite as grand as the red velvet, but a local Pression. Seems to do the job though as smiles return all round.

Refreshed, we get back on the road again and resume our search for a place to stop for the night.  An alarming moment passes when we see signs for the Arc de Triomphe, surely we can’t have got that lost again, not even us??!!

Isn't this supposed to be in Paris? What does it all mean?!

We pass through a small medieval town called Mornas, overlooked by a castle that is perched high on a crag above the village.

Preparations are afoot for the annual medieval festival which takes place on the Sunday. On our walk through the small main street bales of hay are being placed strategically with what looks like jousting equipment being assembled! A few Pastis down the road this could be an interesting spectacle! Unsurprisingly there is no hint of a high vis jacket or anything remotely approaching Elf un Safety!  A quick look on the internet reveals that tomorrow there will be troubadours, jousting, medieval food, you name it. This is one serious medieval festival! The town is pretty and sweet, but parking is limited because of festivities so we push on past towards Camping Beauregard – a sign for which we spotted just before Mornas.

The campsite turns out to be about five times bigger than Mornas and is like Centre Parcs on steroids: it’s vast! There are permanent mobile home thingies, chalets, a bar, restaurant, a shop, an aqua park…you name it this place has it. We decide to stay, it’s only €17 and we can mess around in the pool, do internet type things and generally re-charge. The downside to this place is that it’s winding down to closing for the winter and so nothing actually works. You can’t get in or out because the computers that run the barriers are busticated, the bar has run out of pretty much everything, the shop is closed and the swimming pool is totally inaccessible due to mind bogglingly over-complicated child lock gate that neither of us can open (school for the gifted??!).  It’s slightly tricky to even sit and relax because the flies are just awful. Every conversation is punctuated by unpredictable spasms and twitches and general swatting to try and keep the damn things off. We have a supper enorme and are in bed by 9pm. Rock and roll we ain’t! 

Les Salles sur Verdon (the lake is just too nice, failing at leaving!) - Friday 14th September

All attempts to leave evade us – the weather is great and the lure (no fishing pun intended) of the lake is too much. So we decide to see the week out in this fabulous setting. Plus, we are determined to break the duck on the fishing

On a more serious note we are making headway with a couple of opportunities that we are planning to visit and the free wi-fi is a God send. Well, that’s our justification and we’re sticking to it.

With the absurd blue of the lake beckoning and some fresh vermeeeze on hand purchased from local surly fishing shop dude, we’re all set and we head lake-side for some brunch and some fishing action.

Jon goes on ahead to set up fishing type things while Noush loses some keys and nearly burns Onzo down in a more-haste-less-speed lunch cooking effort. Upon arrival Jon claims that various large fishy things have been swimming past and officially there are fish in the lake. This is greeted with scepticism until (albeit somewhat later) voila!!! Un Poisson!!!

We are assured by local dude who we offer our left over vermeeze to (there’s beer to be drunk and the sun is setting) that this is absolutely a lake record. We are unquestionably champions. Well done us and he hopes for as much luck with our vermeeze.

Unquestionably lake record and yet one of our smallest catches of the day. Obviously. Ahem.

Back to L’Ermitage all sunstruck and releaxed, whereupon our reputations as honest law abiding citizens is called into question by scary stern Frenchwoman. Nowt to be said except always pay (we did) and always get receipts no matter how pissed or beardy the person you are paying (We didn’t. Error). All is smoothed over in the end and the rest of the lovely wonderful staff assure us that we are trusted and welcomed, in fact they set up a beer tab for us…whose error now, hic?!.

Whist basking in the success of our not guilty verdict from the apparent unpaid bill (beardy dudes fault – as with all beardy types he was the proud owner of a Volvo, says it all really) we have a massive Only Fools and Horses moment. A couple of French dudes come and sit down at the table behind us, short of stature, socks and sandals present and correct, and not a hair out of place on their immaculately groomed grey moustaches, they sit down and partake of some Pastis – so far so normal. What follows is, however, somewhat joined. Like little French oopa-loompas their numbers grow as clone upon clone arrives to join them. Every single one of them (there are about 6 all in) look exactly the same: same hair, same age, same stout French stature with same overly manicured moustache and oompa-loompa feet clad in the same brand sandals without doubt they all originated from the same gene pool. We can’t help but do double-take after double-take…ironic in some way, non?

Cagnes-sur-Mer to Les Salle Sur Verdon (Lac de Sainte-Croix) – Tuesday 11th September to Thursday 13th.

Having been advised by wonderful lovely campsite woman at Le Val Fleuri, we make a horribly early start to avoid the school run rush hour. We sort of didn’t take her very seriously, but set off early anyway just in case so as to avoid potential Gorge climbing in midday heat. This turns out to be a good decision. There are children everywhere!! Hanging off railings, causing merry hell on zebra crossings to the extent that they don’t use lollipop ladies here, they use actual police! The road is busy and fraught and plagued with ‘STOP ONZO THERE’S A CHILD’, but nonetheless the French remain hospitable and lovely: we saw real life signposts that worked and, AND, people let us pull out!! There is a God: alive and well and living it up in France.

We head away from the coast and towards the Gorge. Some 130 kms inland. As usual, by no means a surprise bearing in mind we are heading towards a Gorge, everything is up hill. I guess the clue was in the name. Still compared to Italian adventures of last week these are minor inclines!

We sail through various small pretty villages perched high up with fabulous views and settle on Draguignan for a breakfast break. Draguignan turns out to be lovely as we drive through the main drag, a bustling French market town, just the place for a coffee and croissant.  Sadly, it was not to be. Due to a minor traffic infringement, we decided to leave (at pace) and breakfast in the next town. Nuff said.

After we that we zoom to the Lake at the foot of the Gorge de Verdon. We hole up in and Aire which is in the car park of the Hotel and Restaurant L’Ermitage. Super helpful man informs us this will cost the princely sum of €6 and includes use of the pool and free wi-fi. C’est tres bon.

We immediately abuse the hospitality of their bar whilst perusing some interesting business opportunities that have flung themselves in our path.  This results in Jon making some very super important and intelligent phone calls to various estate agent types.  Noush is very impressed at this point, clearly she has a master negotiator on her hands. Master Negotiator may, however, have just committed us to heading very north at speed…Le Mans beckons (coincidence honest guv) until the meeting is postponed until later in the month. Still, one in the bag.

After this piece of good news we de camp to a virtually deserted and very hot lake side. It’s almost like being on your own desert island. As becomes the norm fishing results in nothing, despite the purchase of some French worms. No further comment your honour.

No one told me there were no fish in the lake!

Dinner at the Ermitage (and very nice too) and to bed. Cautionary note! The toilet facilities at the camping car area at the hotel have to be worth a mention to anyone else going this way. The single toilet (which caters for a capacity of 30 vans) is similar in appearance to a sweat box you see at prison camps. Effectively a tin hut and with no light. Visiting the can during the wee hours (sorry) meant having to arm yourself with head torch and a hand held jobbie to complete proceedings safely. I was more kitted out than your average miner than someone going to turn out. Bring a torch.

The morning sees us in Moustieres for some provisions: beautiful place, almost hewn out of rockface, with an incredible church that looked like it sort of just grew there. Pretty and quiet, quick wander and then back to the lake for breakfast and more fishing. Still caught nothing! Did park up next to this though:

The Titanic of motor homes parked next to us at the lake. If Carlsberg made camper vans.....

Tomorrow sees the return of culture as we head to Arles, a city steeped in history further down the coast. We should be heading downhill for most of the journey, down from the heady heights of the Gorge, which will make a welcome change. Arles be looking forward to it (aaargh).