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.
Chaumont to Dijon – via Longres and Longeau July 30th
Attempt to leave Chaumont, much like the Hotel California this
proves nigh on impossible. Route Barre!! Just waiting for the living dead to
finish us off. Let’s hope we make it out
of here by then, at this point it’s not looking likely. Hate Chaumont. Grr.
Finally on the open road again, tensions of chavs-mont seeping
away. Oh, the relief! The countryside is changing. The hills are becoming more
severe, Onzo is still zooming though, charging past the fields of sunflowers
that stretch as far as the eye can see. Charles de Gaulle memorial monument
stands proud against the sky.
We have left the Champagne region and entered Burgundy. Shamefully
it took us a while to work out that Burgundy is the same as Bourgogne. No wonder
we keep getting lost! Manage to get to Langres. Langres is spot on. Public loos
are a blessing (daren’t use ours ‘cos of poo fail!), and town itself provides a
welcome shot of civilisation after Chaumont. It’s another ancient hill top town
(sensing a theme) with more gates and towers than people, how fortified can one
place be??
Croissants somewhat less steroid fed than in Mesnil, but delicious
and satisfying nonetheless. Finished mother’s gooseberry jam; this is a sad
moment. But on the upside Noush says the budget now allows butter. This is
EXCELLENT news.
Decide to head on towards Dijon, find somewhere to stay on the
way, hit Dijon tomorrow. This is a plan that’s going very very well until we
pass through Longeau. ONZO STOP!!
There’s a bar with free wifi.
Bring back old France – well we just found it. So keen were we to
get in this bar the Van was parked mostly on pavement and not in the parking
space. (No ticket on return either, take note parking Nazis from Brown’s
Britain). Matters not here sir, this is the forgotten France of Mitterrand,
Gauloises and 2cv’s of yesteryear knocking a hundred down the autoroute, bottle of Pastis in hand.
Picture the scene if you will: 12.30, proper French café, cold
beer, excellent food and full. Not just full, but the clientele were workmen
coming in for some lunchtime refreshment. Can you imagine a bar in the UK with
the workforce of Balfor Beaty having a couple of beers over lunch and then
finishing off with a glass of wine before going back to work? The hum of the
bar was like a taking a step back in time. Does the world really still exist
like this? If we could have stayed we would, but we would have definitely
needed the Gendarmerie from Mesnil (see Vodka yarn). The bar was called Café De
l’esperances. Big shout out to a wonderful, thriving bar.
Dijon City Centre:
On reaching Dijon we dined in the scenic splendour of the Carefour
car park overlooking probably the biggest shopping centre in NATO. We stocked
up in the food section of the shop, which whilst only a small part of the whole
centre was so big some of the staff went round on roller blades!
As is par for the course we got lost on the way into Dijon with
another diversion and road closure for good measure. However, the pain was
worth it. Dijon is a magnificent place. The buildings, the atmosphere the whole
feel for the place was spot on. There’s a really cosmopolitan, young feel to
the place and it feels vibey and fun. Drivers are all relentlessly mental
though as we observed when we stopped at the (extremely awesome) Café Berthom.
Epic lost on leaving too. Route barre, route barre, why oh why??!
A lack of a will to live results in a total fail to be bothered to turn around
and retrace steps to find the correct exit. This ends up in a gentle and scenic
hill climb on a small insignificant road that, in turn, leads to the discovery
of a perfect layby in which to spend the night. Viewing point, Bourgogne spread
at our feet, peaceful, wooded, secluded and… peculiarly full of single men,
solitary in their expensive saloons, perhaps hoping to indulge in a little cinq
a sept al fresco? This does not deter us, Moo will see them off. Lovely
evening, off to bed, mezza luna to hand (soyez vigilante!), full moon watching
over us.
Survived night in sketchy layby, single men still arriving over
breakfast, what does go on here?!
Convinced we saw George Michael.
Today we’re off to Beaune…(irony somewhere in that me thinks)
Mesnil to Chaumont via Bar sur Aube Sunday 29th July
Will we ever learn how to empty the unmentionable??? Poo fail!
Embarrassment leads to us scarpering out of a town we can’t even remember the
name of. Blushing faces quickly cooled
by Bar sur Aube, the prettiest of little towns, river running through it,
lovely quaint houses, old and pleasant feel, and no opportunities for getting
involved with van plumbing in site. Bliss.
I thought it odd, whilst at poo fail that a family of French folks
in a spangly expensive camper were parked right next to the shit emptying
device (that we couldn’t use) eating lunch. Why? The whole of France to eat
lunch and they chose there, or in hindsight the ‘hole’ of France, one can only
wonder. Num num num.
Chaumont – don’t go here. Not only did we get epically lost in a
town the size of say Moreton in the
marsh for what felt like hours (I jest not) it was unfortunately populated by
the land of the three fingered glove. I can only think people who were sent
down in places like Luton have been sent to live here. (only surprised we
didn’t see Gordon Brown gurning in a Café blaming everything on Maggie). The
local campsite was an oasis that we sought refuge in for the night and very
pleasant it was.
A day tarnished by Brown in more way than one.
Mesnil Market Sunday 29th July
Up early with disastrous shab. Still, the thought of fresh produce and wandering around a traditional rural French market inspires the senses, so after a a brain-freeze inducing cold (free, oui!) shower lake-side, off we go to Mensil market.
Mensil market consists of two vans. Yes two. Not quite the glorious spread of fruit and veg we were hoping for. One of the vans is selling roast chicken (?!) and the other is manned by a hopeful Frenchman purveying a small selection of dubious looking homebrew. Market fail. Straight to boulangerie for breakfast supplies, plate sized croissants see us right. Decide that Mesnil has given us all it has to offer so off we go.
Troyes city centre (and another night at Mesnil) Saturday 29th July
Jon up early, annoyingly bright eyed and bushy tailed,
Noush…well.. not so much. Weather slightly overcast so a good day for a mooch
around the city centre. For once there are no dramas finding the city centre
(but let’s face it, we’ve been here before!). Troyes is a soul easing city.
It’s old: creakingly, leaningly, medievally old. The buildings all have a wonk
on, beams askew, shutters dropping and all peeling and faded, but happily
leaving living side by side with sensitive modern architecture. A busy and
happening café society is alive and kicking, it’s fun. Why are the French so
obsessed with their hair?? There are more hairdressers per square mile than in
the whole of the world. Anywhere. Ever. And they’re all bald men!! But all the
shops live in the history and the peace of the city, just loved it here.
Eventually we leave the city to get back to Mesnil for BBQ and Moo
walk (naturally we get lost, but it’s less painful than normal, I think we’re
getting good at it).
Zut alors! Les flics! The Gendarmerie have landed… C’est un
catastrophe! Or is it….
After a refreshing swim in the lake (bliss) we de camped to the
van for bbq and beer. This is a nice place. Feeling very relaxed after the
strains of the city. A good time to crack open the bottle of very expensive
Russian Vodka we purchased. Fast forward two hours and a very nearly empty
bottle of rather tasty Vodka and the bloody law turn up. Two young Gendarmes
ask us politely to move on as apparently you can’t stay here after 10pm. (We
knew this). Noush politely, and in mildly
slurred French explains we stayed here last night and besides that we can’t
move (the 200 yards down the road) because we may be one over the eight. Mr
plod replies that as we speak French, we could definitely understand the signs
and we knew full well that we shouldn’t be overnighting, but as long as we
proceed in a steady fashion all will be well. So we did. It might have been a
slight give away that I parked the van across the spaces rather than in it, but
hey, seems we were given permission from above. In fact it kind of summed up
the place. Signs clearly stated no dogs on beach, no swimming, no walking and
all manner of normal activities you’d expect around a lake in summer were not
allowed. Drink driving, however, is.
Only in France. Hic.
Perestroika.
Looking forward to Mesnil Sunday market tomorrow (not too early
please).
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