Brigitte – One Hundred and Twenty and onwards!
Monday 9 September 2013. Day 120.
Rain fell in the night and the wind blew. Overhead the sky is leaden and we agree that we have had the best of the weather on the I’le de Re. An early morning cuppa affords the opportunity to bring this travelog up to date and by nine Niki has porridge and coffee on the go. I have it in mind to head for Spain, Niki wants us to visit the huge sand dune, Le Dune Du Pilat at Arcachon. Allegedly the biggest sand dune outside of the Sahara.
As we are packing up the couple who live in the Dordogne are moving off with their Hymer, heading up to L’Ile d’Oleron. We meet up with the guy from the somewhat elderly Transit based camper who explains that he used to have a VW type 2 camper which kept on breaking down on them. During one such breakdown they were assisted by a NZ guy who was driving the transit. He mentioned that it would be for sale in a few months and they bought it and it has been a reliable servant since then!
Our new best friend lives near Cheddar where he farms sheep. When not working he spends time he says playing games on the internet. Quite a character! We passed our details to him and his wife and hope that they choose to get in touch. The offer of a place to visit near but not in Bristol or Bath is also welcome.
Mention was made of Desert Detours, a company that arranges trips to Morocco, some other friends of theirs, Ian and ?, have been and enjoyed themselves. We make a note to investigate and add to our future plans…
The rain returned on and off and then full on as we drove south and west. Much of our drive is on autoroute which generally means dual carriageway. We avoid the peage – the toll roads. They are fast and furious which does not accord with the way that we wish to see France. The downside of our chosen way to travel is the number of roundabouts – rond pointes – that we encounter. Nevertheless we have fun as we roll along. The ring roads that skirt major cities are a law unto themselves. Heavy lorries, commuter traffic and tourists like us in their camping cars or towing a caravan or trailer are all heading somewhere and it seems that no one wants to give a millimetre. Many though are ready to dive from lane to lane to gain a millimetre. Then we witness a guy gliding from lane three of a four lane highway across the hatched triangle that separates the highway from an off ramp and onward. How he was missed by oncoming traffic I will never know and why and how he thought that this manoeuvre was acceptable again defies me. To have missed the turn off and gone on for a further one thousand metres, for that is where the next turn off was located, would have been the sensible option.
I recall that we had witnessed, as we left the Ile de Re, a pile up on the opposite carriageway and a few kilometres later a truck loaded with the remains of a cargo of hay that had been burned almost to the ground. Both scenes were surrounded by multiple emergency services personnel including a swarm of those fire brigade vans that the French love to use. In preference to the large pumping appliances used in Britain with a crew of six the French use vans and crew them with two or three it seems. The builders van painted red has become the workhorse of the French Fire Service. I should also say that they do have some pumping appliances with what appear to be old wooden cart wheeled contrivances on the back. I’m sure this all works very well. These are just the observations of a former firefighter bimbling along.
We stop for the night at Camping Le Braou just outside of Audenge. An unremarkable campsite saved only by having good wifi access. Most of the facilities seem to be rather worn out – I’m thinking here of the bac des vaiselles where I washed up our dishes. Taps that permit a few moments of running water which take a long time to run hot into ceramic sinks that are chipped, cracked or paint spattered or all three. I continue to be amazed that the French tolerate campsites that charge a premium but do not provide toilet tissue in their lavatories. What is that all about? Furthermore to have to take a seat on the ceramic bowl of the toilet is yet another of the quaint ways of our European neighbours that I just fail to understand. Many places lack a toilet seat, they perhaps have never thought to provide one. Perhaps they think that having any sort of toilet to be seated on is better than using a toilette a la Turk?
Tuesday 10 September 2013. Day 121.
I don’t think that we will return to le Braou even to use the internet. We’re off now to visit a sand dune. More driving, more country roads and then we arrive in a vast car park set within a pine wood. Hungry and jaded I wanted some fresh bread for lunch and this caused us to set off on a fifty mile detour in search of parking – there was none, bread – we bought a baguette, and fuel – we filled the tank before the twenty five mile drive back to the dune. When we got there we ate lunch and then scaled the dune. It is an impressive sight and attracts one million visitors a year.
They have a staircase which can be used to scale the dune or one can go at it climbing up the shifting sands. We chose the latter option and got to the top puffing and blowing with the exertion. The views all around are wonderful. To the rear there are miles and miles of pine forests, the dune stretches away along the coast and in front the ocean is virtually cut off from the sea water by low islands of sand. On at least one island there is evidence of some sort of activity, perhaps salt is being harvested here or perhaps the mysterious shapes are oyster beds? Just when we could have done with them we have left our binoculars in the van!
We set off to visit Moliets a seaside resort with splendid sandy beaches and an ACSI site in the shape of Camping Saint Martin, right on the beach. The downside of beachside camping is that the plots are often very sandy and can very easily become traps for heavier vehicles like camping cars. We eventually decide to park on a large plot close to the sanitaires. The plot seems to have a good aspect and is bathed with the early evening sun. Parking the van on the pitch was a lesson and a near miss. There are two trees on the plot and we needed to avoid both of them when lining up the van. We came very close to punching a king sized hole in the fibreglass roof of the van and this episode became the final straw of the day.
We have a discussion and air issues. For a while it feels very bad and then after a walk on the beach things start to feel better.
Wednesday 11 September 2013. Day 122.
We breakfast and then walk down to the parade of shops to buy fresh bread. We walk back to the site taking in a few of the shops that line the street as it climbs towards the dunes and the beach. On the beach the surfers are hard at it. The kite boarders are not much in evidence as there is only a slight breeze. There are two distinct groups of people on the beach: those that walk up to the beach from the end of the beach road as we have done cluster here around the lifeguarded area whilst off to the right beyond the virtual lake, I spot a bridge over the river, people use that bridge to form another cluster down towards the waters’ edge there. I cannot see if there is a lifeguard post over there but it seems likely that there might be one as there are so many people.
We walk on legs that are now becoming accustomed to trudging up and down soft sandy dunes and re-enter the site using the pathway that is forbidden to those who are not registered as staying on the site. From reading their information guide it is clear that the management of the site take this matter very seriously during the height of summer. The written word speaks of guests each being issued with a wrist band which they must wear at all times on pain of being ejected from the site if challenged by a member of the security team and being found not to be wearing said wrist band. When we arrived we were not given a wrist band and we have not seen any security staff. I hope that we do not have any problems but feel that we are now out of season and so safe.
We spend a relaxing afternoon reading outside the van in the sun / shade. At around three thirty Niki suggests that we go to the cafe where they sell gelato. Off we go across the beach yet again. It is fun to feel the sand between the toes and to see the changing surf, the wind has risen and there are white horses in the bay. The kite surfers are having a fun time on the virtual lake and in the bay. The surfers, almost all of whom I take to be learners, are having fun but probably not achieving to much.
The icecream is delicious, two scoops each in little bowls. Chocolate menthe with vanilla for me, Niki also had chocolate menthe but with the addition of Hazelnut. We return to the van to collect the kite and enjoy a fun session on the beach zipping the kite up and down, pulling circular patterns and crashing into the sand quite often. At one point a rather earnest surfer, a German, suggested to Niki that we should fly the kite elsewhere as we were endangering people who were walking on the beach. Niki rather took this to heart.
Back at the van we topped up the water tanks, made ready for supper, took showers and tucked in to supper. Another busy day doing as we please in the sunshine on the Atlantic coast of France. All in all, not too bad.
Thursday 12 September 2013. Day 123.
The early morning cup of tea was taken at nine this morning. Hence the day was a slow starter. The weather did not look promising as we washed up our dishes and generally stowed away the camping car. It seems a trifle odd to me to be washing dishes in an area which is shared with wc’s. One has to try to be terribly interested in the dishes and totally disinterested in people who are arriving to attend to their toiletry needs.
I could not but help to notice one woman who arrived with a pot. She dived into a loo. A few moments later there was the sound of flushing water and out she popped again before disappearing out of the doorway. I can only guess that she is in a tent somewhere that is a long way from the sanitaires. That or she had a disaster with the porridge this morning and decided to flush it down the loo!
Niki had a call to revisit a dress shop this morning and as I waited with the van just outside the site, Niki answered that call returning with a brown paper bag and a smile. Then we were on our way to Hossegor the legendary ASP tour venue. The drive along the coast was rather boring, passing through pine forests has that effect. Then we were in a sea of housing. I was following two vans, one of these bore the cross of Saint Piran. The second van Niki has worked out was following the first. When we got to Hossegor they had stopped ahead of us. We parked and walked to a path which gave way to a view of the beach. There we got talking to the guys. The driver of the transit van with the Cornish emblem is from Plymouth and his female partner, Sam, is from Torpoint. He is a body boarder and Sam has a long board. Their pals in the second van had rather less to say except that Niki complimented the young woman who told Niki where her pants came from – Cache-cache, a French chain store. They left and we hung around for a few minutes admiring the remote control plane that a guy was flying nearby.
From Hossegor where they are getting set up for this year’s surf contest we ventured to Capbreton, based around a working fishing harbour there is a huge marina and also a sea of holiday homes. We found a Leclerc and did essential shopping before setting off yet again. This time we were in search of somewhere prettier than a supermarket car park as a lunch spot.
Trying to find a quiet layby in this part of France seems to be an impossible task we agree after driving for some way. As the kilometres tick down we find ourselves about ten k’s from our initial destination, Espelette. Described in Lonely Planet, as one of the prettiest villages in France we are drawn there. On the way into the village Niki reads a passage about the fact that the area enjoys AOC status for the red peppers that are grown here. We pass by a producer and decide to stop in his car park.
The car park whilst off of the road, felt like being on the side of a mountain! Our cheese, bread, ham etc kept sliding towards the edge of the work surface as we hastily pulled lunch together. There were a huge French group who seemed to have just started a tour as we arrived, fifty plus of them. Taking a leisurely lunch gave us a chance to put a bit of space between them and us – the walk ups.
The young man who greeted us invited us to have a wander around their plot of chillis. In the plot a series of noticeboards gave important information about the product and the importance of Espelette and the other communes that enjoy the AOC status. Having had our questionnaire inspected and corrected we joined with three French couples who had also walked up and agreed to participate.
We enjoy tastings ranging from the sweetest to the fieriest concoctions that they make using the locally grown chillies. On the Scoville scale these 125mm long beauties rate a four. Scoville starts at zero and the heat rises as the numers rise up to ten. The mildest offering is a gelee a sweet sauce with the merest hint of heat. The next tasting was of a confiture, a jam in which the heat of the chilli arrives together with the smoky taste. Thereafter the next tasting was the caviar of chilli – quite simply a pulverised chilli paste. Before tasting this one we were all warned that it would be hot. The heat arrives quickly and in the first instant overpowers any taste. The value of the caviar is as a baste for cuts of meat or fish. Then there was a tapas based around the chilli – ham, tomato, chilli and garlic are the primary ingredients and very nice it is. We go on to taste Basque ham, not to be confused with Bayonne ham which may be made anywhere and is thus labelled in the style of Bayonne. The Basque ham is delicious and not unlike the Spanish ham though I don’t mention this!
The piece de resistance is the chocolate – they major on two. There is a milk chocolate flavoured with chilli and grey salt. Then come the dark chocolates – up to 72% cacao with the piment added for that extra taste twist.
There is no pressure to buy anything in the shop and yet after the tasting almost everyone wants to buy. Niki and I manage to spend €44 with ease, others have spent double this. I salute the chilli growers of this region for not only have they managed to secure the AOC status that is so important to preserving and promoting identity, they have also developed their offering into a range of value added products that sell for a far higher price than the basic product – good on them!
We check out the local ACSI campsite but I don’t get a good vibe from it and insist on driving onwards. We aim towards Orthez and are happy to fetch up on a Camping Municipale in Sauveterre-de-Bearn. This Mediaeval town has a chatueau built by that most famous local character Gaston Febus. He is the fort and chateau builder we last saw in Foix. Here sadly the chatueau appears to have fallen into disrepair. The town though enjoys a very pleasant aspect looking out to the mountains and the river below.
Our walk around the town exposes us to the delights of a group of local men practicing pelote on a court near the centre of town. Back at the van as dusk descends we tuck into salmon, cabbage and lentils washed down with a delightful bottle of red wine that L’Eclerc have been kind enough to recommend.
The weather which at times threatened rain only got as far as misting on us and this evening has been dry and sunny. Let us hope for more good weather in the morning.
Friday 13 September 2013. Day 124.
At about five this morning I awoke to the sound of a large engined car being started and then gunned up the road past the camping car parking. Not quite knowing what the time was until I checked my watch, I determined to get up and check outside the van for any sign or who, what and why. Predictably the only things I saw were what one would expect at this hour, streetlights on and damp pavement.
I went back to bed armed with a torch, my glasses and my book, The Roses of No Man’s Land. I’m now into the first months of 1918 and there are just a few pages remaining until I finish the third of the three books by Lyn Macdonald that I bought earlier in the summer. She has published other titles but until I get to Cyprus there is no use in thinking of ordering these! I shall just have to read other titles, of which there are a few in the van.
From that unsettling start, Niki was soon awake with a spot of indigestion. We had an early cup of tea and followed this with early breakfast. Outside of the van the outlook is not good there is a misty rain falling and the clouds are very low. We determine to use the peage to make progress towards the Mediterranenan coast, sharing the driving.
I take the first stint of an hour of pretty boring driving. I have the cruise control set at about 100 kph which equates to around 2,350 rpm. We are going fast enough to need to overtake large goods lorries but slow enough to be passed by all other traffic that speeds along at or above the 130 kph maximum speed limit. At one point I had pulled into the outside lane to overtake two lorries when a car that had been coming up from some way behind me sailed down the inside lane and back out in front of me with no reduction in speed. As we indicated to pull off the highway into the service / rest area another car performed a similar overtaking manoeuvre by cutting across the cross hatched area separating the road lanes and the lane giving onto the service area. In so doing he managed to secure a few precious seconds of advantage in getting to the fuel pump. We drove past him and into the parking area of the Aire Pyrenees where we park for a leg stretch and a coffee. The weather has improved as we travel West to East and the stunning mountains are now visible amongst the clouds. There is about twenty five percent blue sky and the sun pops out every now and again.
Niki takes over driving for a stint up the peage. Traffic is reasonably light and the road is dry or drying. After about three quarters of an hour driving we agree to change over at the aire just before St Gaudens, thinking that we might head into St G for fuel. When I get back behind the wheel I can see that we have a quarter of a tank still available and we agree to press on towards Toulouse.
We come to the end of the toll motorway and part with twenty two euro and eighty cents for the priviledge of driving about one hundred miles. The road beyond the toll booth is free from such taxes all the way to just outside of Toulouse where there is another short section of peage.
Turning off of the highway just before the peage at Toulouse we refuel at a large SuperU, it feels as if we have made it here with very little fuel left in the tank. Getting put of the filling station is an exercise, we have ventured into the part that car users would access and as a consequence the kerbs and turns are very tight for our van. With care we manage to get away unscathed.
The next part of the drive out through the towns and villages that make up the wider Toulouse commute to work area is both tedious and challenging. The tedium comes from the number and frequency of roundabouts we encounter. At some points they are five hundred metres apart. The challenges are posed by the large goods vehicles that are pounding their way into Toulouse along the very narrow roads of the D2. The drivers of these lorries seem not to care about oncoming traffic like us as they careen along. We have a few close shaves but again emerge unscathed.
Out in the countryside we meander between fields of maize, fields of sunflowers and fields of vines. By now we were getting quite hungry and anxious to find a lunch stop. We hoped that the Butte des Trois Moulins at St Felix Lauragais would do the trick but we must have missed the relevant turn and sailed off out of town without seeing what this landmark was all about! We continued on to Revel and having noticed signs to Lac St Ferriol chose to park up alongside the Lac which is named for the same Saint as the commune in which Paul and Herve have their house in Gascony, Saint Ferriol. The lake is, we discover, the source of the Canal du Midi of which we shall catch interesting glimpses as we drive along towards Agde. It is at Grau Agde that the canal joins the river Herault which in turn flows via lock gates into the Mediterranean.
After lunch we set our course and Brigitte climbs up the D629 a narrow winding road into the Montage Noire passing through les Cammazes and enjoy the descent through beautiful countryside. Saissac, perched on the side of the mountain enjoys some spectacular views. We stopped very briefly to snap a couple of record photos and I noticed a chap at the side of the road with an easel and watercolours who was taking his time to create his own memories. The descent continued through another charming village, Montolieu. It was here that we were honked at by an indignant lady driver who was offended that we might turn right across her path. She sped off into the narrow streets looking for other hapless motorists to become annoyed with.
We were soon on a familiar road as we retraced our steps around Carcassonne, glimpsing the ‘Cite’ and onwards through Trebes and along the D5 to Beziers. As we came upon Beziers we would have done well to heed Siobhan’s instructions to skirt around the city. Instead we again found ourselves caught up in the short stretch of road that seems permanently to be clogged with cars. The work on the outskirts of Beziers may well be designed to take much of the traffic around the outskirts. If this is the aim it is commendable but it will mean that visitors will likely miss the imposing Castle? and the bridge over the river l’Orb.
Niki’s choice of campsites proves to be impossible to find. We end up driving into the local recycling depot – the dechetterie – it smells awful and I insist we turn around and beat a retreat. This then takes us into the port at Grau Agde where the smell of fish has me hoping that we will not be stopping here!
We head back to where we have stayed in the spring – Le Rochelongue only to find that they are ‘complet’. We drive to La Mer a few hundred metres away down a rough lane and yes they have space. I had previously red lined this site (when we checked it out in the spring I have a sense that they had building work underway) but in the circumstances was willing to give it at least one night.
We fetchup onto pitch number 26. As you look at our pitch, the van to our right carries an English number plate, the vehicle to our left a Dutch plate. We set about digging a shallow trench in the grit in which to carry our electricity cable across the access road. A Dutch fellow who finds our antics quite amusing says that we should not worry because the roadway here is not a major highway!
Our English neighbours return and we exchange tales of places visited and plans for days to come. These folks have been here for in excess of two weeks and this a return visit for them. They know the family who run the site and earlier in the week were involved in their vendage – the grape harvest. After a day amongst the vines picking, they were rewarded with a slap up meal and plenty to drink. They speak very highly of the site and I start to warm to the place.
Given the distance we have covered it seems sensible to leave the provision of food to the on-site restaurant/takeaway. We order Pizza Royale – ham, cheese and mushrooms together with a container of frites, ready in twenty minutes. The food is hot, well prepared and tasty. Washed down with a glass or two of red wine it becomes a feast after a long day on the road.
Our basket of chips would happily feed four and so having eaten our fill, we reserve the leftover chips for later use.
Saturday 14 September 2013. Day 125.
We both slept really well and emerged from bed after nine in the morning. The campsite is in full swing. Guys with their modified cars are pulling out to go off to the car show that is taking place nearby over this weekend. Others are heading for the beach which is less than five minutes walk down the lane to the right of the front of the site entrance.
The heat of the sun is so intense that we roll out our awning to achieve some shade as we sit out to eat our breakfast. Our neighbours tell us about the market that is taking place this morning in Agde. As Niki has almost no clean underwear and we have a full laundry bag we decide that we must attend to domestic chores this morning.
The La Rochelongue site has a laverie which they sensibly have made available to the public. Niki recalls from our last visit that they have some high capacity machines and with everything loaded on to the scooter we head off to ‘do a wash’.
We arrive at just after twelve thirty and find that we have insufficient change for the machines. This would not have been a problem ten minutes earlier as the site office would have been open. Now it is closed. Fortunately there is another couple in the laverie. Better yet they speak English – we discover that they are American and they are able to give us change for our €50 note.
As our respective washing loads go through the cleaning cycles we chat about our experiences of France. We have in common, been to Normandy and are now at Agde. They come from near Denver in Colorado a place which Jez and I passed by on the 2002 MilemakerTour with Hauke, Petra, Frithelm and Edeltraut. With our laundered items folded away we exchange business cards with our new friends and wish them well on their European adventure. We also pass on good wishes for the 80 yo mum for whom this trip was made and who because of a knee damaging fall was unable to make the trip back to France to revisit La Rochelle, the u-boat submarine pens and a number of other haunts that mum remembers from WW2.
At Camping La Mer the sun is shining as we drape our washing across our improvised drying line. UK neighbour says whilst chuckling that we are bringing the tone of the place down to that of a romany encampment! With the washing drying we head off on the scooter after lunch to see if we can get Niki a folding bike at the HyperU. Despite the size of the store the selection of bikes is poor and so we don’t make a bike purchase. We do though find a set of boules which we buy.
Returning to base we take a walk out in search of the beach and find it with ease, four minutes away as we had been told. The beach sand is golden like that on the Atlantic coast but here it does not make that rather odd squeaking noise when you walk along it. The beach itself is busy with people topping up their suntan in the September sunshine. The forecast is for three days of sunshine with a slight chance of some cloud on Sunday afternoon.
Attempts to find out about the nearby naturist beach resort at Cap d’Agde are frustrated by an internet connection that brings a whole new meaning to the term flaky. We putter off on the scooter to fill the tank with fuel and on returning fond that the sun has retreated and that our almost dry washing is not quite as dry as Niki would like it to be. We discuss what should be done and I persuade Niki that the washing will continue to dry in the van. I then take down the washing line.
Niki concocts supper using the last of our chicken from the freezer and produces a stew using tomatoes, onion and garlic with a dab of harissa, bought at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta. With a rice and salad accompaniment the stew makes a delicious, slightly fiery meal. We read, drink red wine and generally relax for the evening.
Sunday 15 September 2013. Day 126.
In the early hours of morning the sound of rain battering on the roof can be heard. Niki hops out of bed and closes our roof hatch. The rain continues to pour. Unbeknown to Niki and I our English neighbours have their roof hatch open with the blind closed and so when the rain comes they first feel a few drops. Then they soak themselves as in opening the blind all of the water that has collected in the folds of the blind pours down onto their bed and bedding. However in order to close the roof hatch one has to stow the blind – a Catch 22 situation! They are smiling as they share this war story with us in the late morning. This is the second time that this has happened to them whilst motorcaravanning – note to self.
Fortunately the rain petered out in the night and this morning the sun is coming through but there is a strong wind. I take the pedal cycle out of the garage and set it up for a ride. Niki is busy ‘strimming’ as I set off to explore. In almost no time at all I am back at the beach. What a difference there is between the view today and that of yesterday. Where yesterday the beach had been packed with people, today it is all but deserted. Two windsurfers are in the bay competing with the wind that whips the waves into a series of white tops and sends the sand whipping away. I turn back to the road and wend my way down to the Rochelongue Mall where some hardy souls are sitting outside restaurants and cafes in those clear plastic tents that savvy businesses use to get punters to sit down and spend money when the weather is less than clement. I guess that they also keep seagulls away from the tables and generally make life more comfortable for those who like to sit out but do not wish to have the frothy top of their cappucino sent flying in the wind.
Many of the places that must surely be open in July and August are now closed for the next ten months one would guess. This gives the place a rather sorry look and underscores for me something of the transient nature of seaside resorts in the Northern temperate climate belt.
Cycling away I manage to loose myself in the maze of intersecting streets and eventually choose to cycle up a lane into a strong head wind that has me working hard on the pedals. The lane eventually gives onto a road at the roundabout adjacent to the equestrian centre. I pick up the cycle path and head for home. The rear tyre on the bike seems to be becoming less resistant to the potholes and kerbs that one must cross but I think no more of the matter. Arriving back at the van I can feel that I have done some work on the bike. I also feel a sense of pleasure in having ridden the bike for about forty five very enjoyable minutes. We really must get Niki a bike so that she can join in the fun.
After lunch we determine to check out Agde town centre where we hope to find a cash dispenser. Agde town has a rather down at heel look to it. Tall buildings crowd narrow streets in which most of the businesses are closed. The shops are not just closed because it is a Sunday. They are closed because the businesses have either moved on or more likely failed. Indeed even the 7/7 pharmacie that Niki pointed out has a security grille across the front door. One of the surviving businesses has in the window a solitary pad displaying sew on patches with designs that might appeal to a Hell’s Angel from the late 1970’s. Amongst the dust and grime it looked rather bizarre. Across the street a shop selling lingerie has clean windows and what might be described as a more contemporary looking stock (I should confess to not being an expert on lingerie and so this statement should not be relied upon especially if a visit might involve a considerable journey!).
Down a side street a fire brigade van was parked at an angle on the pavement with its blue lights flashing and engine running. The crew were no where to be seen as we walked past. We wandered down to the riverside quay where the staff of a number of floating restaurants were busy clearing up after Sunday lunchtime service. We found the cathedral which looked more like a Medieval Castle and just across the way the side of a row of tall houses that has been painted to look rather more colourful and full of windows than it actually would be were it unpainted.
We loop back around and pass the fire brigade van still idling on the pavement. A glance into the back of the vehicle reveals a set of fire kit two breathing apparatus sets, a portable pump or generator, a couple of signs, some hose and some tools. On the roof there is a roof ladder and a fairly lightweight triple extension ladder.
We found our Bank and withdrew cash from the machine and then walked up into the central square where a cascading fountain formed the plinth for a huge bronze Marie – the patron of France. The kids playing games around the fountain appeared disinterested as I snapped photos. Their parents were behind the fountain, chatting in the shade of the trees that overshadowed the square. In this part of Agde a significant number of Arab French facial types were everywhere to be seen.
With money in our pockets we set off to explore and found more beaches like those just by our camp ground gate. The ribbon of sand along the coastline has produced a dense ribbon of summer housing development. Most properties are about one hundred square metres and they sit in compounds or groups behind high walls. The more expensive properties have signs which warn of electronic and or patrolling surveillance. At the end of one road there is a large boat yard – a port a sec – literally a dry dock. On metal shelving systems plastic craft were stacked six or seven high. If only the same could be done with the beachside housing that obliterates the view of the beach that all of the owners/renters must crave!
Driving out of Agde we spot road signs to ville naturiste but given the overcrowded nature of the textile parts of Agde I’m not sure I want to venture into the purpose built naturist village. We join the uneasy queue of traffic that signals the return home from the weekend away at the seaside. The lads with their highly polished and no doubt highly tuned cars are here caught up in the line of those waiting to get away onto the open road, wherever that might be or lead. We use the diminutive size of the scooter to weave amongst the stationary Mustangs and modified Peugeots and emerge at the roundabout that leads to Rochelongue, well ahead of the crawl.
At La Mer the caravans and camping cars sit in their alloted plots. Aerials and satellite dishes adjusted to receive the signal in order that the nightly installment of whatever is beamed to the consumer. We play our first game of petanque in the grit of the roadway outside our van. Unsure of the rules we have fun in our own way despite acquiring a few bites from the mosquitoes that get a lucky meal! Let them venture into our van and they can experience “the bat” our electronic mosquito, wasp and fly frier!!
It feel like tomorrow should be the day that we move on. Our English neighbours have set off on their bicycles to ride twelve miles to attend a party at which they will stay over. I have offered to give them a lift on the scooter but they prefer to cycle. I’m quietly relieved. The Unwinding, the book that I am currently reading on my Kindle is becoming very interesting. I Must remember to google Peter Thiel when I get to VCD. He seems to be an exceptionally interesting libertarian.
Monday 16 September 2013. Day 127.
Breakfast and domestic chores go on about me as I type up this record of the recent few days of our stay here at Agde. It seems really hard to recall that we were here in the Spring almost certainly in the first twenty one or so days of our 2013 tour. Over one hundred days have elapsed. We have covered some ground and seen some sights and met some people in that time.
Our quiet Dutch neighbour comes over and knocks on the van door. In impeccable English he apologises and says that it is none of his business before enquiring about the English couple from the van next to us. He has noticed that they went out yesterday and have not returned. We reassured him and thanked him for his neighbourly interest.
With everything else packed away we disconnected the electrical cable and stowed that into the garage before reversing out of the access road and then driving up to the reception. Three nights here have cost a very reasonable €40.
We leave Rochelongue/Agde and head up the highway initially towards Beziers and then head off out towards the coast skirting through Serignan and Valras plage before picking up the D609 signed for Narbonne.
St Jean St Pierre is marked on the map as being a viewpoint. We parked there under high tension electricity cables on some scrubby ground and admired the view of the roundabout. It was not quite what either of us envisage as a viewpoint. As a lunch stop it was adequate. A few hundred metres up the road we stop again at Narbonne 2CV centre. A yard crammed full of aged and ageing 2CV’s Mehari’s and Ami’s is the greeting that awaits anyone who passes by. We stopped and took a fistful of photos. Hopefully some will illustrate an article or similar that I would enjoy writing.
Our next major find is Leucate, the Etang de Leucate is a windsurf / kitesurf enthusiast heaven. We stopped an enjoyed a cuppa whilst taking in the breathtaking views. Almost at the end of our mug of tea a British registered van pulled up and we got chatting with the couple that emerged. They hail from Lockerbie, just up the way from Cumbria and not Andy Murray’s hometown. Dunblaine has that honour. Sadly most people know both places for the wrong reasons. An interesting couple, we wished them well and set off towards Argeles S Mer. This part of the trip took us along the beachside with a minute or two off of the route exploring the signs pointing one towards the Naturiste Village Leucate – this brought us to a locked gate at the end of a beachside road. Beyond the gate a workman was painting parking bays. The sign on the gate conveyed little apart from a telephone number. We reversed into a turning space, retraced our steps to the highway and travelled on. Once again the beach became obscured by high density seasonally occupied housing and associated places to spend time and money – a water park – closed, a stables where on could go Poney trekking – open, a kart track, a paintballing experience and so it went on.
We left all of that behind for mile after mile of beachside parking bays, mostly occupied, running parallel with the road, the low dune beyond, the beach and the sea. Then we entered St Cyprien and motored on to Argeles Plage where we booked into Camping Comanges. This site is much like all of the beachside sites we have now visited, compact plots separated by shrubby bushes amongst huge trees. Gaining access to a pitch is a bit like threading a needle, possible but not always achieved at the first attempt.
We find ourselves parked next to a French family who seem to be occupying three pitches They have bulldogs? On the other side of us are yet another Scottish couple with their teeny dog. As I set to to repair the punctured tyre on my bike our Scottish neighbour proves very neighbourly lending me his tyre pump and then the use of his pristine previously unused tyre repair kit.
I reciprocate by offering him some loctite to secure the nut that holds the bracket that will connect his doggie trailer to the back axle of his bike.
With my puncture repair holding I set off on the bike for a test drive into Argeles and back. Had I not gone in the direction of the South beach I would have easily found the beach at the end of the short street, instead I found myself in amongst heavy traffic as people were heading back home from their day at the seaside. Back at the campsite a glass of blackcurrant juice and tonic prove an appropriate restorative.
With no wine we settle on a gin and tonic to accompany our supper, that sees off the last of the gin! Supper – veal and piment d’Espelette with potatos and cabbage, the piment confiture adds the spice that the veal dish seems to sadly lack. The meat itself is tender and delicious.
Tuesday 17 September 2013. Day 128.
A restless night, which Niki attributes to the gin, has us up early and then dozing and sleeping in till around ten. By the time we breakfast, shower and attend to the dishes it is past one o’clock. The sun is working its way up into the sky and around to our corner of the campground. As long as we get out and about today we should get a sense of the place and also manage to re-provision.
The day starts slowly and it is past mid-day when we start to walk into town. The first thing that I notice is the way the wall that runs alongside the road leading into our site has been built up. Peering over it I see fish in the silted up river bed. I can only presume that at some time during the year, the rains are so hard and so torrential that this deluge is required to take all of the water to the sea.
A little further up the road and we notice ducks being fed by a guy who is getting rid of his old bread. We also notice what appear to be a cross between an otter and a very large rat. Our new friend saya that they are called rangondin in French. When we look this up we discover that the translation is Coypu or Navin?
With record photos duly taken we walk the short distance into town and onto the beach. The sand here is like the sand on the bay of Roses. It is a kind of moderately coarse quartz mixed with some of the finer golden sand. Walking on the beach is quite hard on the feet as the small stones get between the toes and between the bed of my flip flop and my foot.
My grumbling stomach pointed out that we needed lunch and so we found a promising looking restaurant with a few tables outside. Peering in through the window Niki said that there were people sitting at the other end of the place. It turned out that the place fronted onto two streets and the other street was where people mostly entered.
We took an inside table which gave a good view of the pizza oven and its attending chef as well as the sunken kitchen where most of the meals were prepared. Things seemed fairly quiet as a table of eight men, probably builders or carpenters or electricians, paid up and left. That left just us and a table of four, two elderly couples who were having a full on lunch.
Niki ordered a galette and I chose a starter of thinly sliced tomato and mozarella to be followed by a pizza. Niki and I shared the starter which was divine. The main course dishes arrived and were the equal of the starter, we had found a great place to dine! The only issue arose from the size of our dishes. Both Niki and I knew we would be incapable of finishing our platters and so we chose to save 40% for later. Before leaving our waitress provided a pizza box into which we placed our retained food.
We left feeling as full as eggs and took a walk around the shops most of which were having a sale as they sought to clear the last of their stock. A quick waltz around the supermarket allowed us to buy bread and other essentials and then we returned to the van for a cuppa.
Wednesday 18 September 2013. Day 129.
We left Argeles Plage saying our farewells to our Scottish, Kent living neighbours and their little dog. It felt good to be on the road and especially good to be winding our way around the Cote Vermille – which I translated to be the Vermillion Coast. I especially enjoyed seeing people with hods on their backs off to pick grapes. On the slopes hereabouts getting a machine in to do the picking will never I suspect be an option and so the old fashioned method holds true. It took me back to the late 1970’s when surf friends from Newquay would decamp to France to go grape picking. This was one of the things that I had given up for a career in the Fire Service… Who knows where a few weeks of grape picking and raw red wine might have led me?
Niki, camera in hand twisted left and right to take photos, it seems there is a photo everywhere you look. I concentrated on the driving and kept us moving along the N260. We came across a parking area on a sharp corner and as luck would have it a camping car was pulling off just as we hove up to pull in. We stopped and lunched. The bay before us had yachts underway heading up the coast from Spain towards French ports and stopping off places. Close to the coastline the sea seemed relatively calm but one yacht I watched was still bucking up and down as she sped along with her mainsail and foresail set. Further out to sea I could see a clear delineation as the surface of the water showed off white and choppy.
With lunch done we again moved on and into Spain. The redundant border crossing posts were covered in spray painted graffiti and the roadside marker posts climbed from zero marking off each of the kilometers as we drove into Catalunya and Spain. There is a rail line that passes across the border and both countries have quite impressive railyards at their frontier towns. I speculated whether the yards are so big because the rail tracks operate a different gauge? We drove on.
Niki has Siobhan programmed to take us to Figueres which we reached at about two thirty. We pulled off of the highway and stopped on a patch of rough ground alongside Figueres Fire Station. A refreshing cup of tea and a look at the map had us set course for Mataro and Camping Barcelona. The plan – to visit Barcelona and see the inside of La Sagrada Familia.
Our drive down avoided the toll road. For much of the time we were parallel with the faster road but had the opportunity to see things as we passed along the N11. At one point we found ourselves in a short queue of traffic, the Guarda Civil have set up a check point and as a consequence traffic is slowed. There is no obvious reason for this activity which I seem to recall we have witnessed on a previous occasion. Perhaps one day I will ask an English speaking Spanish person why this happens.
The other now all too familiar sight is that of working girls or their unoccupied chairs at the roadside. Scantily clad these young ladies (and all of those that we have observed have been young) are sat by the side of the road in locations that are on the borders of larger towns but out of town. At one point Niki recollects a spot where our road passes under another roadway and says that she recalls that when we drove along here in May a man in a black saloon car was either discussing business with a girl or was dropping her off at the conclusion of their meeting. I pondered on whether prostitution is legal in Spain but decided that if it were why would these women go to these lengths to solicit trade?
We approached Mataro along the coastal road passing through a number of built up areas before coming upon a section of highway that we remember. We stopped for provisions at Lidl and then motored onto Camping Barcelona and our pitch A29 because we found A30 to be occupied.
To our left we have a van with a Swedish plate and to our right we have a Dutch registered Dacia, a small van which the owners have converted to provide sleeping accommodation and outdoor living space. We set up and wander down to check out the pool area. As we came upon the front rank of vehicles I said to Niki “Look at this van, I know this vehicle”. We came around to the front of the van and there on their loungers, soaking up the sunshine were Ed and Val the Scottish couple we had met at Aquarius last year! We gave them such a surprise that poor Val who could not immediately call us to mind asked if we were in a tent or caravan. She had thought that we were another couple that they had met up with here previously. We exchanged a bit of chat and left them to settle back down.
Both Niki and I felt in urgent need of a shower and so we took ourselves off to the ablutions block. Walking back to the van after my shave and shower I was greeted by our Swedish neighbour who pulled out a stool and offered a glass of wine. We got talking and were joined by Niki when she got back from her shower. The conversation continued and ranged across many topics, supper waited and waited. Presumably prompted by his wife (in Swedish) our new best mate called things to a close and we retired to our vans. Niki and I ate a light supper before heading to bed. With bus tickets to take us into Barcelona in the morning we set our alarm for seven thirty.