4th of August St Nazaire to La Rochelle.

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.

3rd August Port Louis to Saint Nazaire.

As it turns out the parking spot turned out to be level, quiet and very dark, subsequently I had an exceptional night's sleep (which may have been something do with the wine with the Dutchies) I woke refreshed an eager to get under-way, I said my goodbyes and fired up the van, we were soon winging our way along some pretty A roads surrounded by open plan corn fields, it would appear that French farmers don't care too much for hedges....or traffic delays for that matter. I was about to find out the difficulties of overtaking even an old rusty Case tractor when driving on the right in a right hand drive vehicle, luckily the roads were quiet. About two and a half hours later I arrived at the Aire, already busy it appeared to be a glorified beach car park with a drinking water tap, a toilet block and a drain, what more could you possibly need ! There were several motorhomes already here but there was plenty of room for me and the T25 that followed in behind me and I found a little spot where I could park with the front wheels ever so slightly uphill, this meant that the bed would be level, due in part to a very minor design flaw when converting the rear bench to a z bed, I won't elaborate, I'll want to sell it one day ! 

The Aire was actually located at the Pont Dr Chemoulin and was literally the other side of the road from the beach on the very outskirts of St Nazaire, the main road has dedicated cycleways in to town and the 4 or so miles back to Le Pouligen which was a nice little village but both places are far more commercial than what I'd seen so far, I wasn't surprised, good weather and nice beaches mean that the masses must be catered for and they were catered for well.

For the first time in a long while I actually spent some time sunbathing on the beach, to counteract this idleness I started to read a fascinating book on Nickola Tesla, it turns out that pretty much anything worth inventing was down to him and his favourite pastime was pissing off Edison. 

I returned to the van to cook, as I did I saw a man with the bonnet of his car up looking puzzled, it was the car he tows behind his motorhome and he was trying to change one of the front indicator bulbs. The car in question was series one, Peugeot 205 rallye, complete with the original horrific yellow paint and a mere 70k on the clock and don't forget, that's kilometres ! I offered to help (anybody who has owned a 205 will know about the indicator lens removal) and whilst doing so I tried to explain how rare a machine this was back home even through the language barrier the man was surprised....he offered to swap it for my van, unfortunately I had to say no ! He supplied me with beer and introduced me to his wife when the task was complete, she spoke less English than boules man but seemed nice, the sun was still hot and the beer was cold and that really was nice. 

   

                                

                                                         

2nd August, Saint Malo to Port Louis.

A two and a half hour drive along a collection of b roads to motorways some pretty scenery and some downright awful views to be had as I head south west but all in all a pleasant drive. As i drew closer it was time for the awaited first stop for fuel, as you would in the UK the place to buy is a local supermarket not a motorway services, upon finding one I go to grips with automated system, which by the way would put paid to many jobs in the UK but would make refuelling much less painful. So I filled up....a grand total of 60 quid from empty to brimming, I can only just do that using veggie oil at home let alone with proper diesel, so off I go, well chuffed with my 35 quid a tank saving !

As I drove through Port Louis and it struck me not only how pretty it was but how quiet especially as it is Saturday. I found the Aire quickly and easily but was perturbed to see that it had a parking meter that wanted 10 Euro for 24 hours, that coupled with the fact it was full of proper motor homes that appeared to have been on site for weeks, some complete with rotary washing lines and satellite dishes meant that me and my little van were going to seek alternative arrangements away from the posh pikey enclave. 2 minutes down the road there was a corner with some trees on it, parked under the trees were a Talbot motor home and a couple of other vans, this looked more like it. I parked up and seeing no restrictions took off on the bike, a chance encounter with a local Bobby later in the day led me to ask if it was OK to sleep there.....his reply "Pas de problem", he went on to say around here nobody cares. I liked his style.

Port Louis is a very sleepy place, it has an amazing wall on the Rue du Fort that runs the length of the beach all the way to the citadel. From here you can see the whole of the large Marina containing several hundred yachts and across to Lorient including the imposing huge concrete structure that is the Uboat pen, a WW2 era Nazi building that is scary to look at even now. The citadel is surrounded by a massive park including some boule Pitches ? Rinks? Pits? I should probably find out what they are called but for now we'll go with pitches. I watched the local old folks play while I sat in the sun and tried to figure out the rules. I got involved in a conversation with one old boy who was determined to teach me although my French isn't good enough and his English stretched to just about knowing where England was. I don't think port Louis is frequented by many Brits, I haven't seen another GB plate and nobody speaks any English, even the bar owners, that was not an issue for me, if I'd wanted to hear more English conversation I would have got off at Guernsey with the Essex trio.

after spending the day exploring I headed to the harbour for something to eat, then back to the van, upon my arrival I noticed a new van had joined the elite tree covered corner club, a brand new Dutch plated fiat motor home inhabited by a couple in their fifties who were very nice, so nice in fact they invited me over for a glass of wine, who was I to say no, I had to keep up international relations. After a couple of hours discussing how rubbish England are at football and how Manchester United need a Dutchman to sort out their issues (two subjects I will hold my hands up and say I know nothing about so I just did a lot of nodding and grunting and wine drinking) it was time for bed.

considering I had never heard of Port Louis until yesterday and knew nothing about it I'm very impressed with the place, it's quiet but friendly, I could spend a week here.

1st August, home to Saint Malo via Guernsey and Jersey.

Left the badger with mum at 6, actually felt a little sad as she watched me leave. Made good time to Weymouth. Cattle class on the ferry was fun, the service was good as was the speed of the crossing however being stuck on a table of four with three generations of the same Essex family was not calm inducing, they spent the whole time repeating everything for Gran, pronouncing Arabica as Aruba beans.....must be a new Caribbean coffee that Costa make and trying to figure out why Guernsey is the same time as England but France is an hour ahead, I briefly tried to explain CET once but gave up, quickly. Thankfully they got off at Guernsey. Onwards to Jersey and to be fair those fast cat things can shift, the clue is in the name I guess. I had the day to waste in St Helier, the place immediately bought a wave of varied emotions, it was warm and felt like a holiday already but that was half of the problem, the last family holiday we had before my parents split up was on Jersey, I was only about 10 so nothing reminded me of it as such, just knowing was enough. I did remember that the gun towers scattered around the island are called Martello towers, so for a week in my childhood my sister's name got lengthen from Martel to Martello. It is a little known fact that the aforementioned Martello once buried her new shoes on a beach in Jersey and couldn't find them again, I was going to look but it was hot and the beach was big.

Cycling on Jersey is brilliant, dedicated cycle lanes take you pretty much anywhere on the island including along the massive beach at St Helier, they are also flat, which is nice.

So after a cycle and a peruse of the shops it was time to get back on the ferry, next stop Saint Malo, an hour and a bit and I was in France, a 5 minute drive saw me at the Aire de camping car in Alet, which is the other side of the bay from the walled town of Saint Malo, the beauty being you can see the whole thing, Alet has some pretty impressive sights of its own. The camp-site was nice, clean and quiet with good facilities, highly recommend if you spent the last 17 hours travelling ! Head into the village for breakfast, many nice little cafes not least the cafe du theatre, which is not only pleasant and reasonably priced but is opposite the library, which is a remarkable building. The need to leave the camp-site by 12 is the only thing that takes me from Alet so soon.

Prologue

Prologue 31st of July.

So this is going to be the story or blog of my trip to France and Spain in my van, without the badger. Why this holiday ? Well most of my friends are in relationships and especially when it comes to holidays, three is a crowd. I'm classy (read not cool enough) for a boys holiday and more to the point I'm not a boy any more so I had think outside the box, anyone who knows me knows I love a vehicle project and that I get all the school holidays off so I decided to convert a lovely Toyota Granvia into a camper and drive to Chernobyl as I really wanted to photograph reactor number 4 but as it turns out the Ukraine is a touch on the unstable side at the moment so I did what every normal person would do and opted to find some sun !

I hate the common conception of the Brit abroad, I'm not sure if anything I do will diminish or bolster that cliché but I'm going to try and take in as much culture as I can, experience local tradition as much as is possible, buy local produce and speak as much of the local language as I can which isn't a lot but I'll try. I will be staying the whole time in my van on "Aires" which are designated sites across Europe designed for campervan and motorhome use, some are flash and have toilets and a fresh water tap and some are just the corner of a car park....but they are free !

So what's the point of this commentary ? Well first of all it will save me telling the story of my trip over and over but mostly it's just the story of a fat bloke in a van driving to Pamplona to sit in a cafe where Hemingway used to get drunk that some people may find mildly entertaining, as my friend Nick says, "You just have to be different, don't you?".

5th of August, La Rochelle to Marcenais via Royan.

I was met this morning by several sense assaulting factors, sweltering heat, how can it be so warm at 8 am ? The van reckoned 18 degrees, hot for an early morning ! The sound of people parking up obviously keen to get in the pool and finally the bin lorry whom had come to empty the wheelie bin two bays down from me, complete with reversing beeper and not very quiet bin men. So that was that, I was a awake, I wanted a decent start today, I wanted to get down to somewhere near Bordeaux so that I only had a short run the following morning to Cap Feret where I was to meet with Allan and his family for the day. I intended to stay off the motorways today and take in a little scenery and scenery I got. Another decent bridge, not quiet as grand as yesterday's but impressive none the less a roundabout with a WW2 fighter of some description on it and the La Rochelle Lexus dealership whom in an effort to show their eco-friendlyness had covered the roof of their showroom in grass, although clearly someone had forgotten to water it and all they had to show for their good intentions was a barren mud roof, you may be the Japanese Mercedes but hobbits you are not.

The further south I got, through Royan and towards Bordeaux the better things got, as the region would suggest there were vast field upon vast field of grape vines but there were however fields of a crop I didn't expect and a pretty surprise they proved. Sunflowers. I may be showing my ignorance here but I didn't realise that the French grew sunflowers, I do now !

As I knew that La Rochelle was to be my liveliest and most populated stop so far I had planned tonight to be by contrast a little quieter, I plumped for a small town about half an hour from Bordeaux called Mirambeux although upon arriving at the Aire I found that it was in fact closed and had been for some time. I consulted the green folder of saviour (a ring binder full of Aires printed from the internet that I had compliled in my efforts to be semi organised) and found an alternative a mere 12 miles away. "Pleasant Aire on the edge of a small village". That's what the folder said, it actually turned out to be a parking area on the edge of the world's smallest village comprising of literally 7 houses and a church, it did however have a cafe and a post office, both of which were shut all day. I wanted peaceful and I got it. I went for a decent bike ride, tidied the van, fixed the small issue that had arisen with the switch for the fridge and generally chilled out in the sun.

Not the most exciting of days but folder said pleasant and it most certainly was.