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.