9th of August, Biarritz to Pamplona.

I have several characters that I hold dear and would best be described by the term hero, some linger from boyhood and others are more recent, amongst them Ayrton Senna, James Hunt, General Sir Peter de la billiere, Nikola Tesla, Bruce Springsteen and Ernest Hemingway (now there's a dinner party) but it is that latter that has bought me here, it is well known that Hemingway spent a lot of time in Pamplona and in particular the Cafe Iruna. A large portion of his novel "Fiesta" is set in said cafe and my aim was to enjoy some refreshment there.

Pamplona is in two distinct parts, the "old" city found behind the bastion of a large walled perimeter and the large sprawling urban swathe found beyond it. Naturally it is inside the walls that almost everything of interest is to be found, the large cathedral, the narrow cobbled streets that are famously run by the bulls and the grand square that is almost completely sided by cafes and restaurants including the famous Iruna.

I had coffee upon arrival, explored a while and returned for tapas and a cervesa, I even managed a "Selfie" with the statue of Ernest that adorns the bar. The cafe itself is almost indescribably beautiful, sculpted ceilings, intricate adornments and a general art-deco stance, what better a place to sit and watch the world go by, so that's what I did, mission complete. It may sound sad to some to drive best part of a thousand miles to sit in a cafe but for the non-believers, come here an experience it for yourself, it defines cafe culture.

There was of course more to see, I stumbled across a local wine and ham festival in the evening where you paid for a glass and a plate and wandered from stall to stall, all within the confines of the city walls which were decorated with hundreds of candles. It seems that these Basque people do a lot of celebrating their heritage and continuing traditions and when the do so they do it with a smile, friendliness, pride and of course food and drink. I can relate to that.

Unfortunately a family matter has meant that Pamplona is as far south as I shall be heading, I have booked a ferry home on the morning of the 22nd, this means I have 12 days in which to take my time to cross the Pyrenees, head North West to the Burgundy and Champagne regions before rounding Paris to the D-day landing beaches in Normandy and home. At least that's the plan.

8th of August, Dax to Biarritz.

It's. Only a short drive from Dax to Biarritz but a fairly scenic one, Biarritz is probably the largest town I've headed for so far with the exception of my jaunt through Bordeaux so I was surprised how easy a place it is to navigate so upon finding the Aire full I parked up nearby and set about having a little explore. I had other back up places to stay further down the coast if needs be but I thought I'd have a look around first. I'm glad I did because it was only during my little cycle that I spotted a poster for the "Rugby summer cup" with tonight's match being Bordeaux verses Stade Toulouse, now I couldn't miss that could I ! I plumbed Stade Aguilera into the sat nav and cycled over to buy a ticket, 18 euros later I was the proud owner of a grandstand ticket.

I'd heard good things about St Jean De Luz, Bidart and Hendaye further down the coast so my plan was to have day exploring the three of these smaller seaside towns and return later for the Rugby and hopefully a parking spot in the Aire.

So I had a day people watching along the coast, it was hotter again today, 31 degrees, that's hot enough for me if I'm honest, especially riding around on the bike ! All was very pleasant along the coast, nice beaches, clean water and the Pyrenees in the not-so-distance.

When I got back to the Aire there were indeed a couple of spaces so I parked up and set about sorting my bed, knowing that I wouldn't be back from the Rugby until gone 11. As I was doing so a German man from a rather posh motorhome opposite came over, smiled and said, "Were you in St Malo last week ?". Apparently his children had recognised my van from my first night in France and made dad come and ask if it was me ! Big country, small world ! We chatted while I sorted the bed, he was heading for Barcelona and I told him of my plans for Pamplona.

I cycled the four or so miles each way to the Rugby ground, not all that far but I arrived sweating, we'd had some thunder and lightening but it was still warm and muggy, I really wouldn't want to play rugby in this heat. So there I was, in the heart of Basque country doing one of the most Basque things you can do, all whilst enjoying a cold beer and having an entire conversation with the guy next to you using nothing but names of rugby players, their clubs, numbers and "tres bein" or "pas bein". Imagine how pleased the guy was when I came out with, "Wesley Fofana, Clermont, 12, manifique!". We were doing well until he mention Vincent Clerc who had just come on for Toulouse, I mimed the dump tackle, "le carte rouge" and Sam Warburton and stopped smiling. He got the

message and anybody else who watched the semi final of the world cup in 2011 between Wales and France will as well.

Toulouse won but Bordeaux were brave.

I have very much enjoyed today, in fact I have very much enjoyed the last 8 days travelling down the western coast and I've met some nice people along the way, the more I see of France the more I like it. Tomorrow I start my brief folly in to Spain but I am already looking forward so seeing different parts of France on the way back, including a drive over the Pyrenees ! Before all that I still had to make it back to the Aire, it was gone 11 and when I arrived back I was sweating, this place really is warm.

7th of August, Cap Feret to Dax

I woke a little reluctantly this morning, I wasn't hungover as such, just a little fuzzy, a cup of coffee and another free shower soon sorted that, I said my goodbyes and thank you to Allan and his tribe and made my way back out of the peninsula. The drive to Dax seemed longer than the 2 and a half hours the sat nav suggested, it

probably didn't help that said sat nav gave me a massive scare by refusing to charge, the age old method of turning off and back on again seemed to work, hope it's not a sign that it's nearing the end !

When I arrived in Dax I was immediately underwhelmed by the Aire, it was just another car park with no facilities, maybe I'd been spoilt last night. As it was it was a free place to sleep for the night that is less than a 2 minute bike ride into the town centre. The Aire is situated behind the park and right next to the bullring ! The town is gearing up for La Feria, an annual festival that includes a week of local traditional parades, music, dancing and bullfighting. I'm not a fan of the idea if I'm honest so I'm almost glad I'm a week early and instead have a live music festival to cope with instead, much more humane, well after the first band finished anyway.

It has been hot here today, 29 degrees almost too hot for my usual amble about on the bike, but I did it anyway, there are some nice public fishing lakes and a woodland cycle trail just by the Aire, very pretty and a host of shops in the other direction all surrounding a rather grand church. There are many bars and brasseries along with several restaurants in the main town square but if I'm honest I didn't find them quite as friendly or welcoming as the local tourism board would have you believe. It appears to be a nice enough town but I'm not overly enamoured if I'm honest but you can win them all !

I have been on the road for a week now and it has flown by, one more night in France tomorrow and then onward to Espania, I speak less Spanish than I do French and by less I mean none. Could be interesting.

6th of August Marcenais to Cap Feret via Bordeaux.

After the quietest night I have ever had in a camper it was an early start to head down and meet Allan and his family but first I had to navigate my way through Bordeaux, it actually went quite well with only one wrong turn the whole time. It didn't seem like a bad city, some nice architecture from the little I could see whilst driving and another nice bridge. I think I'm starting to develop a bit of a thing for bridges. This one was very modern and in the heart of the city and had for very tall glass fronted towers each containing a staircase, I bet the view from up top would have been great.

Once Bordeaux was successfully rounded the drive to Cap Feret and the camp-site was straight forward, it's a peninsula with one road in and one road out. I met with Allan and he took me for a little tour on the bikes including down to the bay and the centre of the local oyster trade. In the afternoon we went to the beach for a swim with Allan's wife and boys and two other families that they knew. The sea was warm and the swim was fun, if I'm honest it was good to just be arsing about in the sea ! We headed back to the camp-site for an amazing BBQ. I took the opportunity to grab a proper shower and a shave and parked the van up for the night in the Aire/beach car park that was literally next to the camp-site Allan was staying on ! After all was sorted I rejoined Allan and family and enjoyed a couple of beers, as the kids and the then in -laws retired to bed I suggested I

make a move too, Allan jumped on his bike and said he'd ride down with me. As we headed out of the camp-site we passed the bar, we decided to stop for a pint. The night ended the way that catching up with a mate in the middle of France should. At 2am, pissed.

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.