Annecy to Faverges

Our journey out of Annecy is slow – and now the cloud has gone, very hot. There are a couple of small towns on the map in-between Annecy and Albertville that we hope will prove suitable for a stopover. Initially we follow the lake. It’s just so pretty. Every part of spare grass has someone on it though– beautiful as it is I’m glad we are leaving. We both agree we need to come back to see this place at a quieter time (if there is one).

Eventually we stumble on Faverges, which has a camping car area. Despite the fact this place is tiny (think small English Town) the facilities are bigger and better than those in Annecy – go figure! Despite this consideration towards camping cars, in typical French style, they also throw in a little something to really sabotage the unsuspecting Brit. In this case it is oversized speed bumps; these things need a 4x4 or, better yet, a monster truck. Attempt one resulted in Moo nearly getting taken out by a cast iron pan that was heaved out of the cupboard by the impact. Not safe, you have been warned! We’re both knackered and hot so an early night is on the cards. The weather is cloudy and close, no air at all. A few glasses of wine and collapso occurs.

Nantua to Annecy

We attempt a bit of Autoroute for this part of the journey. This does not make Onzo happy. Fuel economy hits the deck and everyone is grumpy. No more Autoroutes for us! The drive to Annecy is uneventful. The grey cloudy weather begins to lift as we approach. We park up in a central spot with the intention of going to the Tourist Office to get the low down on parking. Just as we are about to leave I trip over Moo who is lying in one of his normal ‘convenient’ spots. Nasty twisted ankle is the result. A trip to the Tourist Office reveals there are two areas that cater for Camping cars. We go to the first one and it is full. Bearing in mind the number of tourists around at this time of the year we find it incredible that they only cater for 15 Camping Cars. We have visited tiny towns in rural France that have more and better facilities than this. So we journey to the next one which has loads of free spaces but is a located in one of the less salubrious parts of town more akin to a favela.

Annecy is quite lovely. However we may have made a bit of an error here. Last night they had their Festival du Lac. The place is heaving. Just walking the streets is nigh on impossible, particularly the narrower ones. It’s not just the sheer volume of people either. Cars, delivery vans and to top it all off the streets in their entirety are being hosed down. This does not add up to fun walking, which is a shame. After lunch (overlooking the Favela) we buy some beer and walk to the park on the edge of the lake. Stunning views but the amount of people is quite staggering. As for the lake there is barely a patch of water going spare for the amount of boats plying the water. A swift beer revives the senses and we decide that perhaps it is best to move on. We also decide a minor change of plan is called for. The remaining places we wanted to visit in the Alps can wait for another day. Instead we are going to head for Italy. There’s work required on the Van (albeit minor we hope!) and completion is getting close on the house. As we leave our decision is vindicated. The traffic leaving Annecy is unreal. Our aim now is to overnight and depending on the weather make our way to the Frejus Tunnel and wind our way to Italy.

Nantua Sunday 5th aug

Sunday brings no change in the weather. Dark clouds, drizzle but thankfully warm. Over the first buttock clenching coffee we decide to bail and head towards Annecy.

Before departure however, we decide to make the most of the lack of people up and about and attempt poo clear out. Since we started we haven’t a) worked out how to do it and b) wanted to (would you?) Now however we have no choice. We head the 50yds down the road with great trepidation. No one else seems to be awake so if we have an embarrassing fail we can scarper. Both of us are nervous as we reverse Onzo into the designated Camping Car service bay thingy.

The operation should be straight forward in theory. Underneath the van are two outlet pipes. One for grey water (camping car terminology there – smooth huh?) i.e. shower water and the other outlet is the dreaded pipe de merde. Clip on another pipe that attaches to a box the size of a large jerry can (approx. 30 litres) and Roberts your Dads brother – you’re ready to pull out the red pin that turns out the Tom Tit into the box. (Oddly pulling the pin out is how I imagine you’d feel when you lob a grenade and frankly not dissimilar in effect). A final glance between us, the knowing nod and we go for the pin. Reassuring sounds of unmentionables flowing from A to B signal success. But then, catastrophe strikes. Squirts (The irony is strong here) of nasty things are coming from the top of the poo box. It doesn’t take long for us to realise the holding tank in the van is considerably larger than the box. This is very bad. It’s raining and we are both effectively covered in shite. A brave hand shoots under the Van disconnects and the remaining effluent is deposited in the service bay (gazelle like leaps from us to avoid splashback!). Now however, we click like clockwork – the like of which only happens when you are in the brown and nasty. I go for the box and empty it down the designated waste hole and Noush is furiously hosing down the service bay. We fill the Van with water, take a dip in the lake to cleanse our souls and leave – quickly. Despite the minor catastrophe we are celebrating. The burden and mystery of the poo tank is solved. We and Onzo (who is considerably lighter) head for the AutoRoute to Annecy. Poo Success! Zoom!

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.