I woke fairly early, grabbed my towel and headed across the road to the beach, I know what you're thinking, too early for sunbathing and you're right, I was headed for the shower that I spotted yesterday, it was cold and in the open and you weren't allowed to use soap or shampoo but it was bliss, so there I was, naked as the day I was born showering on a beach at 7 am on a Monday morning, I saw no problem with that and neither did the two old ladies who came shuffling by on what for them at least appeared to be an eventful jog. What else could I do but smile and wave.
Embarrassment over it was time to pack up, say goodbye to 205 man and his wife and hit the road, I headed into St Nazaire which is actually bigger than I gave it credit for and headed south for La Rochelle this entailed going over what I can only describe as a daunting suspension bridge, roughly the same size as the Severn crossing, maybe a touch bigger but the intimidating factor being quite how high and steeply it rose, well worth a Google (other search engines are available!) the view was astounding, making it quite a distraction to driving and no airbag or 5 star crash rating is going to save you from that drop !
Chuffed with happening across that experience I was soon to discover another. French motorways. Nothing at all daunting , you simply collect a ticket from a booth upon joining and present the ticket at a booth for payment upon leaving, the only issue for me being that while thousands of British vehicles pass through French toll booths on a daily basis most of them have passengers to complete the transactions , as it happens the process for me went a little like this. Pull up to booth, undo seatbelt, wind down passenger window, put van in park,
shuffle across to passenger seat, press button for ticket, collect ticket, shuffle back to driver'a seat, put van in drive and go before the little barrier comes down again, all to the amusement of the French family in the Picasso behind me. All the more embarrassing is repeating the process at the other end with the added multiplier of the pretty blonde girl in the payment booth not even being polite enough not to laugh at you !
I arrived in La Rochelle and located tonight's accommodation. La Rochelle town council have banned motorhomes and campervans from parking in the town centre but have provided about 30 spaces in a big, well lit car park by the swimming pool for free. The car park is patrolled by police and it is only a 5 minute bike ride into the town centre or 10 minutes to the harbour. The car park is next to a massive and I mean massive park, it has playgrounds, a skate park, football pitches, woodland ect ect. The park is carved up by a confusing system of paths and cycleways, the kind of thing you hear about old people being lost in for two years. The premise of the Aire is all well and good, the downside being is that it is a well lit car park by the swimming pool, still at least it's free.
As there wasn't much to be seen here I locked the van up and headed out on the bike I spent all day exploring the ramparts, harbour, tiny cobbled streets, open air market and the magnitude of cycleways taking you this way and that. Early evening and I head back to the van, partly for an outfit change and partly to see if I could remember where it was without using everybody's favourite French lesson staple....."ou est le piscine?".
I spent the evening back down at the harbour, it was not only pretty but had a plethora or bars, brassieres and restaurants all with seating outside. I'd finished my book on Tesla so this evening saw War of the world's accompany me in my people watching. One thing struck me immediately, good God do French women know how to dress, I mean seriously even the waitresses put a Saturday night in the UK to shame. The men not so much, they came in two guises here, they either looked like they should be in a Crew clothing catalogue, complete with red chinos and Gingham shirts (RD you'd be in your element) or they looked like a cross between a misinformed chav and my memories of a distant French exchange in 1994. I'm no Gok Wan but come on guys...unless the thinking is that with all the female glamour around, what's the point ?
As it neared time to head back to the van I rounded a corner to find a 5 piece band playing in the doorway of an 18th century convent, a sizeable crowd was gathered to stopped to listen, they were very talented, 3 acoustic guitarists, one drummer and above all one particularly talented chap who played the bongos, the didgeridoo and a funny little keyboard/organ type thing that required him to blow down a tube to operate it. They played a kind of upbeat folk that made me compare them to a French language Mumford and sons. I watched until they stopped.
As I was cycling back through the park I started to ponder the imagination behind Tesla, he truly was the man who invented the twentieth century, the skill of writing used by H.G Wells to graphically portray Martians coming to earth, how much I had enjoyed my day as a whole and how it is commonly said that everybody has one book in them. Don't worry, this isn't mine.
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