Nantua Sat 4th August

FCTVs seem to have entered into some tacit competition to see who can have the biggest chocks and who can employ as many different coloured ones in one go. This is mystifying as the campsite is completely and totally level, yet still they persist! A certain smugness pervades the area around what is clearly the winning van. Onzo looks on with certain nonchalant unconcern.

We head off to the market with hopes that this time there will be a better showing than in Mensil. Thankfully this turns out to be the case, the market is excellent and quintessentially French.

Rows and rows of fresh fruit and veg, wonderfully unidentifiable meat and gloriously stinky cheese all assault the senses in the way that only French market produce can. We buy half the fruit stand for €7 and then smash the budget on two slivers of cheese which cost the earth. A quick drink in the bar opposite eases the pain somewhat.

Later on the weather closes in and once again we are caught in the storm. The lightning flashes seer the lake and the thunder reverberates round the valley, bouncing back and forth and coming ever closer. We batten down the hatches and have an early night.

Nantua Friday 3rd August

C’est un catastrophe!! It’s the law again! Sigh…  Why are the French so spritely in the morning? Surely they should drink their absurdly strong espressos and then spend the rest of the morning whimpering on the loo? Or hovering with ever increasing thigh ache and jelly legs above their hole in the ground thingy?

Anyway, law at 8:15 outside Onzo, buttocks bravely unclenched and demanding money. Noush mumbles some sort of incoherent such and such and the law leave, with money, but also promising to return later, how does that work? Clearly Noush needs to work on her morning charm technique.. (not possible, do not disturb.

Ever. Nuff said).

Weather so hot Friday passes with trips in and out of the lake. Drinking cold stubbies (why does the fridge work colder on the gas than the 240volts – tis a weird one) and watching the numerous fisherman. All local these dudes, flat French caps, miserable and smoking non stop. Not one of them caught anything whilst we were there. I put it to Noush that the fishing is a merely a way to get away from the wife. Relate are short on numbers en Francais me thinks.

They smoke so much that the local fishing shop is called the Smoking Fishermen. This brings me neatly onto a couple of odd name observations we’ve made. Firstly, some car company has named a small car a Duster! For real! Who passed this via the marketing board? Can you imagine going down the pub and chatting over the joys of Christmas when someone asks you what you bought the wife and you reply a Duster!! Could give the wrong impression in this sensitive age non? First prize though goes to the Café l’abbattoir in Bourg en Bresse. Brave, stupid or ingenious? And finally, mum, if your’re reading, the Restaurant Eglantine.

The evening brings some local mini (very mini) musical entertainment on the other side of the lake. The competition is fierce. One café has a stage with an extremely enthusiastic air drumming compere and the other café enlists the assistance of a willowy French and a dodgy microphone. Think Kate bush and Wuthering heights music video; she’s willowing about relentlessly syncopating to air drumming compere. It’s cacophonous but all quite fun. The audience consists of stoned teenagers on mopeds, bossomy women with a hundred children hanging of them and the occasional typical old French man who can successfully gently collapse off his chair with a certain panache. Local flair is very much alive and kicking.

Nantua – Thursday 2nd August

After the arduous climb Nantua was like an oasis. The small town nestled in the valley with dramatic high cliffs on all sides. The lake was aqua marine and looked extremely inviting. On arrival we quickly established that the book of lies (the camping car guide) had actually called this one correctly. After a brief moment of indecision we decide to go to the parking and overnighting area on the other side. (Still only a 10 minute trek into Town though). This turns out to be a good call. There is room for 15 or so campers and we get a slot. A little squashed in but the view was jaw dropping. The lake was not 20ft from the back of the van. We quickly decide that weather permitting we will stay here for a few days.

FCVT's are performing as normal. Extremely close proximity to the others allows us to further study the behaviour of this strange being. More on this later.

Jon and Moo quickly settle into life on the lake. Moo has some slight issues regarding people getting into the water without his consent and spends his entire time on red alert, ears pricked, awaiting the latest splash. On hearing anything that remotely sounds like someone getting in he’s on the case like the Hoff in his finest red bikini moments. Moo to the rescue! Neighbouring campers amused, fishermen not so much.

Unfortunately Moo was not on hand when Jon was attacked by Nantua Nessie. Oh for a fishing rod that could have caught the thing! Jon and Nessie both come away, equally startled, equally unscathed. Moo disgruntled to have missed out.

The evening brings us our first encounter with ‘Brits on tour’ fail 1. Their ice breaker was to ask if they could BBQ Moo, followed by a ‘bless you’ on hearing Noush’s full name (Anouska). Noush at this point somewhat annoyed. What follows is an interlude of such painful one-upmanship, excruciating chippy Brit chat and general rudeness and ignorance that even Onzo has got his hackles up. Thankfully they leave the following morning, Jon and Moo say polite goodbyes, Onzo and Noush decide to plead the fifth. 

Bourg en Brasse to Nantua – Everest fail

Imagine the steepest hill you have driven up. Then times it by ten. Then imagine whilst crawling up the bloody thing you see a group of blokes from Nepal in a camp before the next day’s arduous climb (overnighting Sherpas anyone?). I’m sure I saw Donkeys tethered up and smoke lazily coming off a camp fire. Maybe they’re waiting for the weather to clear? Either way this was a steep hill and it went on for miles – I jest not. Needless to say Onzo wasn’t happy and overheating occurred to the point where we nearly ended up looking like two people from Pompeii. ONZO STOP!! But not in a good way. No bar, no wifi, just a very unhappy temperature gauge. Fortunately the fridge is still working, so we stop and have a beer and contemplate being stuck on a hill forever.

Jon decides to walk the hill to see if the thing ever ends. Noush, Moo and Onzo all watch on in overheated admiration as flip after flop Jon treks into the unknown. Turns out the hill does, eventually, end. 400 yards later. Bloody thing. Always round the next corner, thankfully in this case it proves to be true. Onzo zoom! Everest is crested, the sleeping sherpas are left behind, Onzo cools down, and zoom zoom down the hill to the view of a sparkling aquamarine lake and about ten garages carefully situated to prey on the motorised victims of an attempted Everest ascent.  

Louhans to Bourg en Brasse Thursday 2nd August

Early start from Louhans (we crept away to save face in front of the FCVTs) and headed towards Bourg en Bresse. As we head east towards the border with Switzerland we are greeted with ever increasing spectacular countryside. This stops with fairly dramatic effect when we reach Bourg en Bresse. Whilst it’s not as hideous as Blackburn we choose not to stop and head on to a small place on the map called Nantua. On the map it’s next to an enormous lake. We are filled with hope of great things to come. Siii.

Beaune to Louhans – Wed 1st August

Reluctantly we leave Beaune. Really wonderful stay - so much so I feel I could live there.  As we leave (instantly lost – notice a theme developing here? this one is a record though, we’d only moved 200 yards – and that was just to get to the car park exit). Once we get on the correct road, which happens to be the ring road, we pass by Bar Foch, which I regret we didn’t get to enjoy a libation in last night – I digress though…..

Charm fail  2 occurs as we stop at the boulangerie for breakfast supplies. A polite enquiry as to whether  there is a supermarket nearby is greeted by a fiercely abrupt and perfect ‘Non’, as only the truly miserable French person can deliver. Within two minutes of leaving the Boulangerie we have passed  one supermarket and have parked up in the second one. Amused and offended, the only response is a perfectly delivered Gallic shrug. What can you do?

As we wind our way south east, it’s really noticeable how the scenery is beginning to change. The flatlands are now most definitely behind us, winding undulating roads greet us, lush wooded countryside much like England (but without the rain/ shit drivers/speed cameras/potholes – delete as appropriate).  So rural is this neck of the woods we see a sign warning us of bandits – go figure! To be fair it does remind me of one of those American road trip movies where you travel through remote towns, tumble weed abound and populated by folks a few chromosome thingies short.

Moo has sense of humour failure today. The more time I spend with him  I realise that should he be human there would be a large dose of the ghey and a high possibility of handing in his man card. What bothers him I wonder – perhaps it’s a dogging thing??  All becomes clear later on when Moo is sick. It’s Moo shab.

Louhans itself is a sweet riverside town. The town centre, with a wide slow meandering river has old beamed architecture of the type we saw in Troyes – but in miniature. We actually manage to find the camping car area after a visit to the Tourist office. Noush is proud (and rightly so) that the assistant behind the desk complements her on her French.

The camping area is idyllic. Right next to the river on an oval arrangement which has capacity for about 20 campers. I’m starting to notice some patterns of behaviour amongst fellow camper van types (FCVT). The blokes have this willy waving neanderthal thing for chocks (the plastic cheese shaped things you stick under the wheel to keep the van level). Oddly, FCVT use the chock thingies even when the ground is totally level. Why is this and what does it mean? Also, they stand next to their van and survey other FCVTs (hands on hips, belly out) and assume a position and attitude similar to an ancient warrior having slain his enemy. Should I purchase some of these chock thingies and get involved? Feel baffled and not with the ‘in’ crowd. Hummph.

The weather is epically hot. You simply can’t move without dripping. I find myself fantasising about rain and cloud. Noush decides to cut my hair as it’s getting out of control (now I feel like a proper camper). My wish for rain is met. (Perhaps the gods disproved of my new hair) and the heavens open. Thunder, lightning, serious storm. Once clear we nip into town to a cool little bar for a pression or two. The storm hasn’t cleared the weather which is so close it envelopes you. Tiredness brings on an early night. 

Layby to Beaune Tuesday 31st July

Lost immediately after exiting layby, but we decide to stay on the road, even if it’s the wrong one, just because it’s so beautiful. The views stretch for miles and as we descend to the valley floor we stumble across the village of Marsonnay. A really pretty place and somewhere that probably would have been somewhat safer to overnight than sketchy layby! Even here, somewhere so small and frenchly delicate they are still totally set up for camper vans, parking and services and everything. Nestled in amongst the hills and vines as far as the eye can see, everything catered for, perfect. It turns out that this mini paradise is part of the ‘Route des Grand Crus’, oh life is so tough! We pootle along, slowly and happily, admiring the ancient stone buildings around every corner and the chateaux on every hill. Our senses are assaulted by the fertility of the land and the richness of the area. This lusciousness is perfectly encapsulated by Beaune.

Beaune 

We love Beaune! It’s beautiful, buzzy, lively, fun, and dripping with wealth and opportunity. Despite all its bounties it is down to earth and charming. Well… mostly charming, but more about that later. We wander around and, as ever, are in search of wifi. Straight to the tourist office where, rather surprisingly, we encounter a fine example of Italian sign posting; upon exiting the tourist office we spy a signpost for said tourist office pointing in totally the opposite direction! Our confusion is eventually resolved by managing to learn that there are, in fact, two tourist offices. Once again we curse poor signing, only to discover it is, as always, down to our own ineptitude. Sigh. To console ourselves and to take advantage of some free wifi, we head to the café Dix Carnot and order a gloriously expensive of local white wine. When in Rome and all that! Very much enjoyed both wine and café, despite some charmless man (charm fail 1) who refused to budge an inch to let Noush sit down. We set Moo on him.(Stealthy dog fart) Chair achieved.

An evening wander reveals that Beaune is just as beautiful by night. Why do all French bars close so early?? Perhaps everybody was at the rather peculiar Charlie Chaplin expo… a black and white silent film screening in the town hall accompanied by your traditional mad pianist with crazy hair. Love Beaune.

A perfect day in a perfect place, with a shady and peaceful spot to sleep in. All is well in our world. Till bloody Valentino Rossi decides to do a lap of town. Or 70. Beaune Moto GP  has begun. The noisiest bike in Nato. Round and round and round. Noise: 15 million decibels: maximum speed 35km/h. Perchance to dream. Sigh.