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Did some shopping and then took Curly for virtually the same ride we had been on earlier, feeling a little more confident about leaving the van as the other campers are staying the night, too. Time for a walk on the beach, then back to put the bikes away as it is getting dark already.
Put the satellite dish up and saw some nasty looking riots around Bordeaux and gales in England.
Started to rain in earnest as Jeannie was cooking some splendid chicken breasts, and after dinner we had a full scale thunderstorm and pouring rain.
At one o’clock in the morning we were awakened by the sound of heavy traffic. Peering through the curtains we saw cars everywhere, cramming every space in the camper van car park, both sides of the road outside, even trying to park on the pavements if they could find a way on.
There must have been at least eighty in our car park, and loads of cars were driving around trying to find somewhere to stop, mainly with two fairly young people in each car.
Those that secured a space got out and joined a steady procession heading in the direction of the beach. It was still spitting with rain, and we heard one girl singing “I’m singing in the rain” as she walked along. Despite a few being typically loud-mouthed….we have noticed Italians tend to shout to each other without regard for those around them….they all seemed quite respectable, but there were so many that I decided to nip out and take down the satellite dish. It would perhaps be too good a target to resist if they came back later with a few drinks inside them.
I half thought of getting dressed just to go and see where they were all going, but it was still raining and I decided not to bother. Back into bed and off to sleep until about half past five when they all came back again, mostly fairly quiet but with the odd few shouting to their friends as they got into their cars and left. It was still raining, which probably helped keep the high spirits down a bit.
In the morning, not a sign they had all been here.
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Sunday, Nov.6th.
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After getting up quite late and having had a better night than we expected after all those unexpected visitors, we drove along the coast road, miles of it, the beach almost all blanked off by lidos and cafes. Spezia, when we reached it, was less frantic than before, or perhaps I am getting more used to the Italian way.
Bought 50 euros-worth of fuel at one of the only service stations to have a person to take the money as opposed to the cards only garages we can’t use.
41.67 litres at 1.20 litre, 50 Eus.,at 49499 miles.
Just as well we did. We stopped for an ice cream and a walk along the front in Spezia then headed up into the mountainous coast road which was all z-bends to climb up through one pass then down and up again, all without a petrol station to be seen. We could occasionally see bits of the motorway vanishing into tunnels way below us.
Eventually reached the coast again and found a car park with some camper vans parked there, so thankfully pulled in to stay, only to find they were all being moved on by a copper in a police car. He came over to us and said we could stop at Rapallo, so despite my very acheing arms I had to drive on over yet another z-bend infested section to the town of Rapallo which was extremely busy and full of crawling traffic, car parks all full of cars and no signs to any motorhome sites.
Went inland to get out of town a little and came to a car park by a sports stadium which was a pretty scruffy area, especially as it looked as though the builders were in, but my arms were hurting and I was not going to drive any more, so we had to stop.
We walked in a little way to phone Steve and wish him a Happy Birthday.
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Monday 7th.November 05.
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Had a quieter and better night than we had expected, and the sun came out which improved the mood no end.
We tried to drive round the town which seemed quite a pretty place, but low railway bridges and lots of height restrictions made it not very camper friendly….indeed, we noticed there were none around.
Set of on a coast road to Porto Fino, the road appearing to be a dead end. Traffic thinned at once, then we saw all the signs about weight and size restrictions. The road was right alongside the sea and fairly narrow. Though Porto Fino may be a pretty little port, I was thinking of Mevagissey and imagining trying to turn round and escape one of those narrow roads, so the lack of anything other than car traffic and the long signs we could not really read convinced me that discretion was the better part of valour and I made a five point turn and chickened out.
We headed towards Genoa, but decided the twisty roads were too much work and went to the motorway instead.
Tunnels and bridges one after the other to keep the motorway virtually level high above the villages hiding at the bottom of every chasm where a valley stole in from the sea.
Brief “wow” glances of the tops of ornate churches or pretty village squares alternated with “urghh” as we passed over industrial valleys of chimneys and container storage yards.
At Gerona the motorway split, the A10 we were following winding through the outskirts of the city, sometimes literally along the back wall of old houses, only occasional glimpses of the town and only a small motorway service station available for us to stop in for a coffee.
Turned off to Valgo Ligura, only paying E4.50 for the peage which I am sure is less than the fuel we would have used scrambling up and down the valleys and hills on the old roads.
Down into town, avoiding most of the central area and passing some serious docks with bright yellow ferries from Sardinia moored up, very poor and confusing sign posting, but eventually we were on the SS1 along the coast as far as Spotorno.
As we descended towards the sea, there was a big flat car park type area on the right at sea level on which were a couple of camper vans but nothing else. We went on into the village/town to find all the car parks seriously height restricted, so back to the car park to ask an Italian cariste if we could stay the night. Answer was yes for ten Euros, to be collected by someone in the morning.
We opened the near side rear bunk to investigate a damp patch on the carpet, and discovered the soiled clothes and towels stuffed below were all soaking as a pipe from the damaged Truma boiler had been dripping steadily for ages.
I managed to find a discarded cork in the car park which I cut down to fit the end of the sheared pipe. Then we cycled into the village which was very sweet, lots of tiny narrow alleyways with shops, mostly closed, little arch ways, and a Lavatiria which would open at four.
Went back, bagged all the clothes, and returned to the laundry. Fortunately the woman spoke enough English to be re-assured as to why all our washing was already wet and she said a wash and dry would be ready same time following day.
“Manana” is not solely reserved for Spaniards.
Back at the site in the sunshine and a nice brand new Italian McLouis “Glen” drove in, which I wanted to see as it is the sort Harry is trying to buy, but when Jeannie told him it would be ten euros to stay, he said the Italian equivalent of “you must be joking” and drove straight out again.
Nice day despite the traumas, and unfortunately I have a very bad and sudden tooth ache.
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Tuesday 8th.
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Sunshine but a bit windy.
Only one more van sharing this huge area.
We can not imagine how it has remained open ground, as a site right beside the sea with access from two roads as well as the main road and backed by rocky cliffs must be a developers dream. I bet if we come back again it will be a building site for sure.
My tooth was playing up so I sat and read the De Vinci Code book whilst Jeannie went for a paddle and a stroll along the beach.
Later we cycled to town again, but it seems to be mainly shut until 4p.m.
Meandered through the alleyways, then stopped by the beach for a while where locals were sunbathing, oblivious to warnings of sun cancer, cooking to a deep mahogany tan with seemingly no bad effects.
Left Curly in the van and returned to collect our laundry which cost 15 Euros, all washed, dried, and neatly folded. We popped inside the small church, amazed by a plethora of gold and gilt everywhere, all in need of a bit of a good scrub, and very hard to really see as the place suffered from a lack of windows.
Jean said “I’ll follow you” as we set off back for tea…..then promptly vanished after I had gone no more than thirty yards.
I cycled back and forth the length of the village, first on one track of lanes, then another.
Not a sign of her.
Quick dash out of the central areas in case she was on the prom. heading for home, but no sign.
So, park up where I think she must pass to leave, and, after ages, she turns up and tells me I just “vanished” so she went and found the post office and had been browsing to buy stamps for her collection……..
As punishment, she can carry the heaviest bag of washing back to the truck…
My glasses are a bit wobbly, one arm having come loose. Unfortunately, it is not screwed on but fixed by some miniature nut system, so I found a little optician shop and asked the two ladies inside if they could fix it for me. They would not accept payment, and tightened the offending hinge without a problem.
I had worn my old glasses whilst cycling in, finding them awfully heavy and cumbersome when compared with the new rimless frames, and the lens was so thick I could not even look through my camera viewfinder as it got in the way.
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Wednesday 9th.
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Paid our ten Euros for last night. The Indian chap who took the money told me they were closed from the weekend onwards for the winter.
We filled with water and emptied the cassette then set off along the coast road which was very pretty but very bendy. Stopped at a Lidls to re-stock then pulled in on the road leaving Alassio to have a nice sit on the sandy beach, warm sun and clear water for a paddle.
Moved on only when the sun dropped behind the hill, finding the Auralia road a masterpiece of engineering, clinging to the side of the cliffs, but very narrow and twisty which means the driver finds it hard to admire the views.
We tried to find a couple of camper places advertised en route, but only when we had gone through Imperia and were climbing out the other side did we see lots of camper vans huddled together down by the marina and harbour.
A smart left turn and I found our way down the cliff, through the railway station, and down to the car park area where about a hundred and twenty camper vans were all parked, all Italian, and all paying only E3 for a 24 hour parking ticket, though it went up to five euros at weekends.
Noticeable how few vans sprout satellite dishes in Italy. They tend to stay in there own country, as opposed to the German and UK vans, every one with the dish on top.
The “harbour touristique” looked more like a military prison compound with great iron bars protecting the official moorings of police, coastguard and customs vessels from the public.
I took a couple of pictures as the sun descended below the line of houses and churches up on the hill.
After dinner, walking around I watched some fellows arranging a race track with cones and hose pipes on an empty car park then racing their very fast petrol powered model cars.
Next to us, an elderly couple returned to their van riding a fold-up tandem bike, first I have ever seen. Very neat.
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Thursday 10th.
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Sunshine and Jean phones Steve straight away to wish him a happy birthday. He was on a school trip at Devizes, just about getting the children ready for the return trip back to school.
Drove along the excellent coast road, stopping for a bit of shopping, and ending up at San Remo.
I was astonished to see a sign for the railway station pointing to my right, inland, as we know the station is virtually on the beach. But it looked like a big new white building, and we seemed to be passed the area the station used to be and almost heading out of town when we saw a sign for Camper parking, straight on. It seemed we went a long way out of town before we found the entrance on our left, a man in a small shed giving us a time marked ticket saying 5 Euros a day, pay when you leave.
We drove in and double back towards town, twisting through an area with fairground rides parked up, along behind a sports complex, and eventually between the beach headland and the railway track we arrived at the camper area.
To find the railway has gone, and is now a cycle track cum height restricted road back in to town.
They have re-routed the railway a little further inland, through tunnels, leaving their sea front railway free. Why don’t we do that at Dawlish?
It’s a lovely spot, reasonably quiet, feeling secure, and within walking distance of a small beach and a cycle track in to the old railway station area. Brilliant.
We decided we will stay at least a couple of days.
Looking at the map, we are close to France but only at the camper un-friendly end of the country, so we think we might as well go back via Switzerland. After all, we paid to use their motorways.
Bikes out and we cycled along the mostly tarmac tracks to exactly where we stayed in the de-mountable all those years ago on our trip to Venice to meet with Amy Lou.
We found a pleasant park by the marina and sat in the sunshine then cycled right back to the cam per without having to touch a main road.
After dinner I walked Curly down to the beach in the dark. Very quiet. Most of the vans are closed, the people watching telly I think.
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Friday 11.11.05.
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Shirt off weather. Walking along the beach. Closed bars, each with about fifty changing huts, their section of beach as closed off as they can get it, even though it is deserted.
A couple of fishermen and some people walking their dogs, no holidaymakers to be seen, just us in summer clothes, them in black and dark browns, well wrapped up.
Then we find the exception to the rule. The fishermens’ wives, who have sensibly brought their loungers to set up on the rocks so they can soak up the rays while their old men try for a fish.
Curly was tired out, so we left him in the van as we cycled in to town and Jean asked a man in the station Tabac about the new railway and learned it had opened two years ago.
Cycled round the huge marina and virtually out of town on the Southern side to sit for a while by a beach, have a drink, then cycle all the way back again.
After lunch we cycled in yet again, this time with Curly, but on finding a much nicer beach we also found the No Dogs signs and had to settle for a scruffy bit of beach where at least we found a bright red star fish to take home for Tom.
When we returned, now feeling the effects of so much cycling, lots of vans were pulling in for the week end, one drawing up right alongside us despite there being plenty of space. Seems the Italians love to squash in even when there is no need of it.
Tight groups of vans then long spaces between groups, and not because they know each other. Strange.
Listened to American Rock Channel for the Riviera on the radio, interspersed with U.S. biased news slots in appropriately U.S. drawl.
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Saturday 12th.
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Cloudy and cooler. After breakfast I packed the bikes away. Did the water and cassette and bid a fond farewell to San Remo, heading for Ventimiglia in heavy traffic.
Fuelled up, 57.09 litres at 1,178 E per litre, total 67.25, at 49716 miles.
As soon as we turned right at Cuneo we were out of the traffic and began to climb up a beautiful pass, the Col de Turini, with a river deep below us on our right and ever heightening hills on our left, crowding in until it was a gorge that made Cheddar look more like a mere wrinkle.
We entered France by an old hill town, then began rising steeply on u-turn bends until we came to a red light outside the entrance to a tunnel, 3.9 metre high, 3100 metres long, and wide enough for two way car traffic but with larger vehicles restricted to one way at a time only, which meant lorries, campers and coaches pulled in and watched a “minutes to go” countdown before the green light let us through.
And we emerge in Italy again, where we stopped before Cuneo at a big Auchin store for shopping.
A brand new bit of peage auto route to join the older Turin route, nearly flat and almost dead straight, which feels odd as we curled our way down from a mountain tunnel but here the landscape does not seem to have any suggestion of hills and passes…..
Outside Turin we paid E6.80 and went in to the town centre looking without success for camping signs.
Eventually saw a few parked camper vans on the opposite side of the river Po so made our way round and parked in a tree-lined street alongside the river, right beside a neat pedestrian and cycle bridge over the river.
Traffic is quite noisy but we hope it will calm down later, and it is cold enough to have the fire on for a while.
That’s the trouble with early dark evenings. A bit boring. Jeannie has even read ten chapters of a Jilly Cooper book, and that’s a first.
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Sunday 13th.
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After breakfast on a cool and cloudy morning, and leaving Curly in the van, we cycled in to the centre of Turin and eventually found the Cathedral de Torino, Keepers of the Turin Shroud.
Whilst the actual original cloth is kept in an ornate silver case in a special alcove, they have provided a full size reproduction to be on view of the very revealing negative type images.
There was a church service in progress and not too many people were attending, so, as she knew the words to one of the hymns, Jean had a sing-along in Turin cathedral while I took a few pictures of the shroud.
It is the Turin Festival of Film, and one sees lots of Luvvies beautifully dressed and walking around greeting each other with effusive hugs and kisses, walls decorated with film posters mainly featuring old space horror films, the Thing From Outer Space and Monster From The Deep type stuff.
Saw the Roman theatre and the old town walls with high round gate towers, cycled down colonnades of arches and some smart fashion shops, found the river, and followed it back to the van.
Put the bikes away and set off along the SS11 towards Chivasso, intending to take a left towards Aosta on the SS26……but road works and a total lack of signs soon had us travelling in the wrong direction going too far to the East,
However, the traffic was light and the road good, so we went on via a well signed road to Ivrea which took us back to the SS26.
Despite heading towards increasingly hefty looking mountains, the road was surprisingly level. The clouds and some mist obscured what were probably lovely views. We could just see a few of the square towers perched high on cliffs above the road, but soon our route threatened to become a serious climb with the associated z-bends, and I went for the motorway instead.
Only two or three junctions for Aosta, but cost E2.50 for quite a short trip.
Found the camper car park and went for a walk as it was starting to get darker.
Hundreds of people just strolling along the narrow old town street, some dressed in après-ski outfits, lots of very tall Italian men not at all like the short and swarthy types one expects, and plenty of children around, too.
The old gate houses were illuminated, lots of the shops open, and Jean bought ten Euros-worth of Cow salt and pepper pots to sell on our stall.
There were some lovely crystals on display, all found locally, but none seemed to be for sale.
On the way back, we rang Steve to use up our Italian phone card.
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Monday 14th.
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For a couple of days my red light brake disc warning light has been flashing on if I braked at all hard. I was hoping to ignore it, but now it is coming on when I just slow down, and we are entering the Swiss Alps.
On the way in to Aosta we saw a sign to a Camping Car Assist place and went there, but it was shut.
I decided to try and find it this morning, driving round where I thought I had seen it and not finding it at all.
Jean reckoned, correctly, it had been before we reached the actual town of Aosta whereas I thought it was when we had virtually arrived. Anyway, just about to give up when she spotted a sign to St.Cristophe and said that was where the garage was.
True. Found it, full of camper vans in for repair, went in, and fortunately one of two customers could speak enough French/English for us to get the guy behind the counter to understand I wanted brake discs done urgently.
Like a look-alike for Pavarotti, the customer told me he had worked on cruise boats playing the guitar in the band, and been to ports around the U.K., as far as the Orkneys.
He explained what I wanted and the garage man ‘phoned a friend and booked us in at his garage to have the brakes done. We had to wait until noon for him to open up, but when he arrived he seemed to know what he was doing. We went to find a bank, which was quite a long way away, to get some cash and by the time we returned he was ready to take the truck on a short test drive.
The old discs were well worn, and much more would have started them scoring the brake discs.
He charged us E160 and, though I have no idea of the value when compared with having them done at home, to get such quick service warranted a ten Euro tip and many thanks as we drove off feeling much safer with the Alps ahead of us.
He instructed me to use the brakes gently for a while….and we drove in to a semi-circle of high Alps, many crested with snow, aiming for the St.Bernard tunnel…
We climbed steadily and pulled in at Etroubles, a lovely sunny spot, the last little village in Italy.
Jean went in to the little log cabin chalet style shop and was surprised to find it was actually a quite large and well stocked mini market, lacking only customers.
After a pleasant coffee break we began the serious climb, doubling back in a sort of columned tunnel designed to prevent snow falls dashing away the road . This section of road was way above the village of Etrouble, and just outside my off side window I could see the village so far below, I stopped looking.
It doubled back again, levelling out a bit, and coming to the entrance to the tunnel.
One could turn off and take the road to continue, but looking up and seeing what looked like a tiny twisted ribbon stuck on the side of a near vertical cliff decided me that no-way was I going to drive over the pass.
Then we went to the barrier to pay the toll, and it was a dreadful E34.80 !
I pointed out we had already paid the motorway toll. No, this is just for the tunnel. To-day is becoming seriously expensive, but we certainly aren’t about to turn round so off we go into the customs post, then the long straight and virtually level tunnel to emerge into Swiss sunshine by a turquoise lake in a green valley.
Nowhere to stop, at least, not for a motorhome, and the road is still like a one open sided tunnel to prevent falling snow. There are occasional icicles and hangings of ice on our left.
A long descent now, cows with bells, tiny hamlets of chalets with huge thick overlapping slate roofs to support serious weights of snow, all very chocolate box Swiss scenery until we got lower down and the snow and green meadows gave way to cliffs of a dirty grey slate.
We reached Martigny and pulled in by a Roman amphitheatre dated around 45 A.D. and still in excellent condition. Did a bit of shopping, then joined the E62/ 27/ A9 motorway towards Montreaux and left this to loop down towards Lac Leman, following motorhome parking signs to the Salle de Omnisports which was right down by the edge of the lake. There we found a small sloping car park for motorhomes and even free electricity which I would have been glad to use, but my cable was not long enough, and others had grouped around the supply making it impossible to reach.
We went for a walk before it got dark, and it was a shame that the misty atmosphere spoiled what is probably a lovely view out over the lake.
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Tuesday 15th. November.
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Quiet night although I did not sleep very well. Strange how sometimes, even in a bit of a dodgy stopping place, one can sleep like a top, yet in an authorised and pretty safe place one can’t relax as well.
Got the bikes out and after a couple of other vans moved I was able to get close to the Borne and plug in to put a bit of much needed juice in the flat batteries.
Cycled for miles along a virtually traffic free lane cum promenade around the edge of lake Leman.
There was a large bronze statue of Freddie Mercury in his “I Want It All” pose, facing out over the lake, and there was a lot of activity as people were building a temporary two storey Swiss chalet building as a bar and restaurant for a Festival of Nature which is starting to-morrow. There are flying storks made of pampas grass and reeds, a wire compound of realistic chickens and colourful roosters all made from grasses and bits of pine trees, giant snails made of interwoven fir tree branches, deer, dice, a sleigh, and so on, all made from natural bits of trees and so on.
Damn nuisance, really, as the police have put a notice in our car park saying we all have to move out for the bloody festival oicks by seven in the morning.
Jean bought a cow bell…..well, you just have to, don’t you?….and we cycled so far that when we eventually returned I could not take a picture of where we had been as it was lost in the distant mist.
Bikes away, use the borne, then drive on via the motorway. If only the murky cloud would lift, there were probably some stunning views out over the lake. We did have some sunshine, but not enough to dry out the fogginess.
Passing Lausanne in the distance, all we could see were tower blocks of flats, then we were going through miles of open agricultural areas, vines, green fields, and the sort of scenery I had not associated with Switzerland as it was all open and fairly flat.
A5 towards Neuchatel, alongside the lake of the same name, until we saw a sign for Grandson and just had to turn off and go and see the place.
Started by Duke Grandson in 1200-ish, there is a big old chateau castle beside the lake and in the village square. It looked quite interesting, but less so when admission was 12 Swiss Francs each. Instead, we bought a bottle of Grandson wine and carried on driving along minor roads more or less following the motorway until road works pushed us back on the A5 which then seemed to show a total disregard for common sense as it dived into seriously long tunnels to even out quite minor looking hills. It certainly made covering the distance easy but seemed wasteful.
In to Neuchatel, searching for a sign to the aire as listed in the Aires book.
No joy, and out the other side. Turned round for a second try and spotted a policecar parked, so asked the officer where the aire was. He said it had been closed as they were building a new sports complex on it, but suggested if we went through the building site to a car park by the lake, we could stay there for a night.
Found it, backed in to a super spot, tail end practically hanging out over the edge of the lake. And cycle tracks all round us.
Walking along beside the lake it was a surprise to see large notices warning that the waters were polluted.
The stadium is being built from pre-cast concrete sections which arrive on huge lorries and are craned off and slotted into place by teams of Bellasconi uniformed workmen. Looked very efficient.
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Wednesday 16th.
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A little less cold this morning, but even so we decided not to get the bikes out as the town did not look very interesting when we drove through, although it boasts a chateau and a university.
Instead, we drove off along the new section of motorway which includes lots of tunnels under minor bumps beside the lake, towards Biel Sonceboy and on to Courgenay, through a couple of very long tunnels, about 3 and 5 miles, and in to France at Bonmecourt.
Some shopping, then getting lost in Belfort as we could not find any signs for Lure, finally finding our way onto the E54/19 which was mostly motorway standard and beautifully surfaced. It led us through woodlands and countryside until we turned off on the 64 to Luxeuil-les-Bains.
A sign to a camper dump brought us to a nice flat car park with a borne that needs a token. It’s beside a small lake and nice grassy banks. Unfortunately, it is raining now, but at least it is not so cold.
Altogether a lovely route from Switzerland with nothing too dramatic, light traffic, and mainly good quality roads.
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Thursday 17th.
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Cloudy, a bit foggy, and when we walked round the little lake we found a big Auchan store where we got fresh bread and milk. Drove by the actual baths as we were leaving, on to the main road, parly dual carriageway, mostly well surfaced. Fog spoils the views.
We turn off and drop down to another place with hot spring Roman baths, Plombieres-Les-Bains, a village nestling at the bottom of a steep narrow valley, full of many large French Regency style buildings, including the modern bath houses and posh hotels.
Hardly a soul about apart from some men fixing up the Christmas lights and testing them.
Decorations favour massive padded gold and red bows, swathes of matching cloth on the many balconies, elfin people peering down, a huge flying stork overhead, and rows of wooden sheds which will no doubt be stalls for the well advertised Christmas week-end markets.
There seemed so few people about that Jean asked in the small tourist information office why it was so quiet and the ladThere seemed so few people about that Jean asked in the small tourist information office why it was so quiet and the lad informed her that in the whole Vosges Meridionales region the population only numbers one hundred thousand.
It seems incredible that all these magnificent four and five story elegant buildings are virtually empty but for the tourist season.
And while she was there, Jean noticed a stamp commemorating a visit by Napoleon to the town. Though long out of print, the lady agreed to let her buy it….
We passed one of the thermal bath houses and saw through the open windows lots of empty couches inside a steam filled room, wet marble floors, and not a soul to be seen.
Limitless free hot water. Can’t be bad.
On our way again we spotted a sign for a castle by the Moselle and dashed off to see it, only realizing when we arrived that we did the same place from a different direction on a previous trip in Spring when the flowers were out and more people were around.
Driving on further, I saw a bit of unused canal by the road and suddenly thought I had camped there in a cul-de-sac a few years ago, by a walnut tree.
Sure enough, a few miles further on I found the same little place again, actually pulling in to see if there were any walnuts.
In to Nancy, pulling off for fuel into a massive commercial shopping area only to find the huge petrol station had a 2.5 metre height barrier.
On to the main road to Toul once more, eventually finding an Auchan, also with a barrier but this one had been broken.
63.43 litres at 1.009 per litre, 64 E at 50343 miles.
Fantastic mainly motorway standard road from Toul to St.Dizier where we turned off to go to Lac du Der Chantecoq and stay by the lake near Giffaumant Champaubert.
The sun tried to break through for the last bit of the trip.
We are parked near a borne behind a paved area with the tourist information centre, a café and some shops. There is a full moon, it is freezing cold, and very dark.
Rang Steve and he said it is –20 degrees at home. Feels like it could be heading that way here, too.
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Friday 18th.
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Cold night and there is a thick frost everywhere this morning, so our plan of cycling round the lake has been dropped.
Rang the vet at Gravelines and booked Curly in for his treatment on Monday at 3.30, then went for a drive by the lake, passing a more open aire which the bird-watchers obviously favoured.
We were woken up by some geese like creatures squawking before dawn.
Joined the N44 at Vitry-la-Francois where we called in to a Pam store to get cherry fruit cake and as Jeannie spotted some 2003 Chateau Neuf du Pape red wine at a very good price and bought some for Christmas.
This is supposed to be the champagne area, but we see only rolling fields of green and no vines. There were some men at a lay-by we pulled up at, piling a huge heap of mangowurzels, then on to Rheims and in to the middle of town, parking by the cathedral while Jean nipped into the tourist information centre to ask if there was an aire.
She returned with a code to be punched in to the car park barrier and a map of the town to help us get there with only one wrong turn. It is behind the comedy theatre and beside the river, and there is a free vidange and fresh water supply. It is free for 48 hours.
We got the bikes out and went for a ride in to the town, calling in at the imnpressive Basilica Saint Remi. Inside it was lofty but dark, until Jeannie put 2 Euros in a slot machine to light the whole place up beautifully for ten minutes, just the right time for me to take photographs.
The museum next door wanted over £4 for us to visit, so we gave it a miss and instead cycled back to watch a huge barge being lowered in the canal lock, then go to another older looking basilica, but it was shut.
We decided to ride back along the towpath beside the canal, knowing this went right by the location of the aire.
Fine, but there’s a six lane highway, a four lane road, another canal and no way of crossing them. No problem until we went right by the camper behind a high wire fence and another river……
It was a long way back, so we went on, but finished up behind a wire fence alondside another motorway with no exit from the track. We gave up and turned round, found a narrow steps only bridge over the canal, and had to carry the bikes over, only to find we are then on this dreadfully busy six lane road, and it’s now getting dark.
A pathetic 18” wide so-called cycle track led us back to a notice that forbade bikes from progressing further !
The road was even busier, passing half under a huge modern building. It seemed they expected you to fold your bike up and put it in your pocket. We had to walk down another road and eventually cross a bridge and find our way back to the aire from another direction. High kerbs, pavements obstructed by signs and bollards, a crap town for cyclists, and we eventually got back tired out and cold.
The noise from the motorway is quite loud, one may need ear plugs at this site, but I will not complain…..where in U.K. would one have a dedicated in-town aire such as this ?
.
Saturday 19th.
.
Despite the proximity of the road, we both had a lovely peaceful night, even having a lie in this morning.
Probably because the weather is dull and grey, we were in no hurry to get the bikes out and it was quite late when we cycled to the information centre to ask if there were any markets or boot sales around.
Just a food market, so we went and bought honey, eggs and mushrooms, then parked our bikes outside the main cathedral and went for a walk inside. The stained glass windows are magnificent although the modern ones by Chagal, which everyone raves about, seemed quite tame in a basic mixture of blues when compared with the bright and colourful original windows.
Lunch back at the truck, then took Curly in his basket to a nice park by the sports stadium which was being rebuilt. The park was very pleasant with lots of things for children to do and nice paths around a small lake.
There were no other campers in the aire and it seemed a long evening. The lights seemed to be getting a bit dim and Jean suggested running the engine to charge up the batteries. Seemed a good plan, but the truck battery was too flat to even turn the engine over……
Lights out. Go to bed.
.
Sunday 20th.
.
Not a soul around. I got the jump leads out and connected the leisure battery to the van battery, but it still would not turn over fast enough to start the engine.
Oops. Now we are in trouble.
The building behind the theatre seemed to be some sort of club for elderly folk, and quite a few cars had come and parked despite the signs saying “Motorhomes Only”, so we had breakfast and thought we would dash out and collar any motorist for a jump lead start….but it is Sunday and no-one even drives round from the main road.
I walked round by the main road and opened the barrier, intending to try and catch any passing motorist for a helping hand, but the few cars I saw went whizzing by too fast to stop. Eventually, a lady returned to her car parked over the road, and I dashed over and asked her if she could come and help me star our vehicle.
Very bravely, and very reluctantly at first, she drove in to the theatre car park and followed my pointing to drive right round the back of the building while I galloped back via a short cut to get the leads on to her battery.
The engine started and with heartfelt thanks and much shaking of hands we said au revoir to our reluctant heroine and were able to pck our odds and ends away and get on the road.
Just out of town we hit fog and we went along a short but expensive bit of peage before finding a turn off to get to the N44 towards Laon.
Road work “Deviations” made us lose our road and we found ourselves on the D967/946 heading for Valenciennes on a straight but narrow road through green fields shrouded in fog, fortunately with very little traffic.
Free motorway from there, going around Lille which was totally hidden in the fog, and on to Steenvorde where we topped up our fuel as we headed for an aire listed on our notes as being available at Cassel.
17.39 litres at 1.15E per litre, total E20 at 50657 miles.
Detoured to go and see a windmill and arrived just as the keeper was turning the sails to fold the cloths up for the night, then to Cassel to find that the “aire” is just a borne in a space beside the road. Drove up into the village, shaking everything on the rough cobbled road.
This place sticks up like a volcanoe in the middle of flat countryside and seems very Dutch. Sounds it, too. Steenvorde.
But we parked and joined lots of other people walking around the shops, then we climbed up a narrow lane to a viewing area and another windmill.
There was a statue of Marshal Fochs and a brass plate showing directions and distances from places as far afield as Loon Plage and Manchester.
Back to the shops, and an antique centre which had loads of stock we just would never be able to sell in U.K. plus alsorts of African French Colony wooden masks ans carvings of squat ugly-looking Gods.
Back to the roadside space. It is not too bad, except that the road is straight and any passing traffic goes by fast enough to actually shake the van, probably delighted to be free of those bumpy cobbles.
.
Monday 21st.
.
Not a bad night. Slightly brighter skies after early morning drizzle.
We meander through tiny French villages with Dutch-sounding names, brown water canals, and another windmill which marked the start of The Meridean Walk, all the way from the Channel coast nearby down to Andorra on paths and walkways provided and protected by the French Society of Ramblers. Impressive.
We arrived at Gravelines from a new direction, finding a large municipal campsite and aire de service. Plus lots of houses. Never knew the place was so big.
By the port we went to the Rue de Calais branch of Lidls and I bought a couple of crates of bubbly which we have tried before and know is lovely, some boots for The Boss, oven gloves for Christopher ( those rubbery looking totally heat proof things ), cutlery for Steve and the usual food supplies. We actually spent E96, which was probably more in one go at a food shop for the whole trip !
As we sat by the river marina and had our lunch the sun came out and the temperature rose a lot.
At three-thirty we took Curly to the vet for the going home treatment, costing 35.8 Euros, then walked around the grounds of the Gravelines chateau.
There are the fortification walls alongside the river and canals, a modern concert hall and small museum art gallery, and some formal gardens. If there ever was a posh chateau, it has gone completely. It probably was mainly a military fort, I should think.
Anyway, back at Grande Phillippe we sit by the river in the sunshine and watch the fire brigade men zoom around in rigid inflatables then park round the corner and watch a lovely orange and pink sunset.
That’s it. We have to waste a day to-morrow then we’re on our way to Blighty.
Listening to Classic Gold on medium wave, we hear that the M25 is blocked after accidents, there is freezing fog making driving dangerous, and it is set to be a really cold night.
Shall we turn round?
.
Tuesday November 22nd.
.
Lovely sunny day. Out on the sand playing with the dog before breakfast. Then a walk over the downs, seeing the duck hunters waiting for any unfortunate flying creature to be foolish enough to try flying over Graveline beach.
Last night, just about dropping off to sleep at gone midnight, and the lunatics were shooting a dozen shots or so, then they started firing again at six a.m.
It is no wonder one sees so little wild life in France.
We went to the very end of the long sea wall and watched the ingoing and outgoing Norfolkline ferries pass by, then in to the City de Europe shopping area by Calais. As the sun was shining, we decided to leave the indoor shopping for a while and go down to the beach after filling up with the last of our cheaper diesel. Drove all round the nearby Auchan complex looking for the garage before finding out that it was round a roundabout across the road in a totally separate area.
57.31 litres at .999 litre, E57.25, at 50736 miles.
Parked by the sea where the camper area is, without any barrier this time, and watched the ferries comong in and leaving.
Walked back to look in the shops trying to get something for Tommy, and found a crystal Eiffel Tower. Most of the stuff was total rubbish.
Drove back to the City d’Europe in very heavy traffic, had a cup of tea, then went in and browsed to pass the time, actually buying some Christmas presents in a very smart perfumerie, each purchase being beautifully gift wrapped, then a bit of drink at Tesco’s and back to the camper for a drive along the motorway towards Dunkerque. Turn off for Loon Plage, then miles further than I remembered before going through the waste lands to the port.
A very pleasant young lafy suggested we take the earlier ferry, so we were first in the queue for the 9.30 slot, eating a chicken soup Jeannie special to set us up for the crossing.
The boat was the “Maesk Dunkerque”, a lovely brand new vessel, quite elegant for a ferry with a covered rear promenade deck, lots of snack bars and restaurant areas, tables, chairs, and a big windowed “atrium” style front end. Video room, cartoons for the children, music T.V. videos on large televisions all over the place, and a well stocked shop that accepted Sterling.
Very quick and comfortable trip although we did feel sorry for the operators, providing such a smart new ship and carrying hardly any passengers.
By 10.30 p.m. U.K. time we were sitting on the sea front at Dover having a cup of coffee.
I made a note of Norfolkline’s Special Offer Phone Number. It is 0870 870 10 20.
We had called Steve just before we boarded the boat and hope to call in to see him at school.
.
Wednesday November 23rd. 2005.
.
Cloudy and lots of traffic. Before reaching London we were in fog. As we were actually stationary at times on the M25 I was tempted to turn off and use the old roads, but the fog was a deterrent, getting to Larkhill at 12.15 to say “Hi” to Steve, then press on in the quite thick fog until we were only 15 miles from Exeter and the sun came out.
To do the last few miles in typical very heavy traffic, I had to wear my sunglasses, and we pulled in at home, tanks just about empty, with the mileometer reading 51055, a total of 3682 miles on this trip.
We set about claiming for the accident, and it took months before we had our camper back in late Spring, looking good. After a few days of serious clean and polish work, it was actually transformed into a much better looking van than we started with, especially after we painted in matching coach stripe lines over the van door and so on.
But that engine is slow and hard going…..
Thoughts of updating begin to flower……….
.
END.

Grizzly

What a magnificent effort torquayite ! Thanks for this which I've saved to read later. Looks some good stuff on there to cheer a miserable wet evening.

G

peejay · Campsite DB Admin

Well Peter, you did say it was long!!

Only joking, many thanks for taking the time and effort.

I've just finished part 1, shame about the accident but at least you're all in one piece.
Keeping part 2 & 3 for later.

pete

Saphire

Thanks Pete, I have read it all 1,2 and three. An amazing trip and a brilliant story, I would have turned round after the accident let alone the break in and you pushed on regardless.
A brilliant story thank you very much for sharing it with us its was a very interesting read.