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Whistlestop France
Entry 3 of 19 | show all | print this entry |
I'm a recent convert to holidays
abroad. When I was younger travel seemed a waste of limited
resources. It wasn't that I couldn't afford it - just that there
was nothing lasting to show for the expense (I thought). Then I
achieved a lifetime ambition to own a horse, and happily spent my
spare time with him.
24 years later I still have the same
horse, but I've also acquired a husband who likes to travel, so I've
had to adapt. At first we borrowed Ralph's parents' camper and had
UK breaks. We were short of cash at the time and smug that we never
paid for camping..
Finally, in 2000, we decided to get
married and I knew I couldn't put off the foreign holiday any longer.
I didn't know where I wanted to go so the camper van seemed the
obvious choice for a honeymoon.
We set off for France in mid-April.
Our first night was in a camp site in the Bois de Boulogne, in Paris,
putting us in walking distance of all the sights. After a second
night we moved south, trying to stay as close to the Swiss and
Italian borders as possible. We took 3 days to get to the Med, and
the whole journey was so magical I've been afraid to go back since,
in case it doesn't live up to my memories.
In mid April, the snows were only just
beginning to melt and the days were crisply cool but sunny. The
scenery was astounding, whether it was the lakes and mountains or the
timeless and immaculate French villages we passed through.
On the first night we stayed on a farm
in the mountains near Bourg-en-Bresse. We bought goats cheese in the
farm shop, and I made my first attempt at social French. Neither
side understood each other very well but they were lovely people and
I began to see how unimportant words are in the business of
communication.
Next day we stopped for shopping in a
town called Voiron and happened upon a huge market - my first
experience of a French market. There was an incredible choice of
food and no-one expected you to buy without trying. We really didn't
need anything by the time we'd finished.
Moving on, we passed near Grenoble and
through Gap, then turned east, moving towards the border. We stopped
near Barcelonette for a swift half in a pretty village, and it was
warm enough to sit outside for the first time. Nevertheless, when we
found our road south, it was blocked by an avalanche. Eventually we
had to retrace our route for 3 hours before we found an open road.
That night we arrived late in
Dignes-les-Baines and we were clearly in Provence. The traditional
paint colours of the houses (lemon and green, or terracotta and
lavender) were distinctive and charming. Next day it was time to get
the shorts out and we continued south through beautiful gorges. We
stopped for another market in Entrevaux and afterwards explored the
medieval town. The lanes were too narrow for cars and the sense of
peace as we wandered the seemingly deserted town was like being in a
cave or an ancient wood.
Finally that evening we had our first
glimpse of the Med. We spent a magical night in a farm camp site in
a little village called Gorbio, high in the mountains above Menton.
The pitches were in terraces so everyone had a view over the heads of
the row below, and out over a deep blue sea. The facilities were at
the top of the site and the loos and showers consisted of converted
animal sheds. I remember having my shower with only a pair of ranch
doors between me and the rest of the world, but as I showered I had a
view to die for.
We planned to follow the coast, and see
where we got to. We managed Monte Carlo and Monaco, St Tropez and
Nice - then disaster struck. The camper broke down in a little
village called Nins les Pins. We had breakdown recovery and quickly
found a local garage. Does anyone remembers the early days of
Channel 4 and Eurotrash? The garage manager was a dead ringer for
Antoine de Caune. He couldn't do enough for us though, and helped us
find a hotel and hire car while our van was repaired.
We visited Aix-en-Provence, where we
got a parking ticket for the trivial offence of not displaying our
ticket in the side window when parked on the road. It was 6 inches
away from the side window and clearly visible, but that's the French
for you (we never paid it). On the way back, we visited a cave to
try some wine. Another first for me - it was served into large
containers from a petrol pump (where can I get one of those?).
Next day we went to Avignon. We saw
the famous bridge and wandered the streets looking for an internet
cafe. I wanted to order a couple of bunches of flowers for my mother
and her friend, who had helped with our wedding. When I found a
place, I thought 15 minutes would be plenty of time to log on to
Interflora and type in a couple of addresses. I hadn't allowed for
the different layout on French keyboards. After a lifetime in IT I'm
a fairly fast touch typist, but this was useless with a keyboard that
clearly wasn't qwerty.
With the van restored to us we moved
on, following the coast westwards. Aigues-Mortes, a huge walled
town, is definitely worth a repeat visit, and we also took in Arles,
with its old Roman Colosseum. We arrived in Marseilles on a Sunday.
In the morning we had driven into the town from a camp site about 30
miles away, on roads that were elevated above the surrounding land.
I wanted to try the famous Bouillabaise, so we had a leisurely
afternoon eating the biggest helping of fish soup I have ever seen.
We wandered the town, trying to walk it off and watching all the
beautiful people in the restaurants around the harbour, before
setting off back to the same camp site. We were amazed to see the
number of cars that had run off the roads into the fields during the
day. Obviously the locals had been enjoying the day rather too well.
After that, the scenery became a bit
flat and boring and we pressed on towards the Spanish border. I
wasn't mad about the holiday villages around Perpignan, but we
finally arrived in Banyuls-sur-mer, and found a nice campsite that
we've visited many times since.
Ralph was keen to visit Spain so we
crossed the border next day. This was before the Euro, so we had to
find some pesetas. We explored Cadaques and Roses, before starting
the hunt for camping. There aren't nearly as many places in Spain,
and most of them aren't that nice. We rejected one in Banyoles,
because it felt more like a gypsy camp, and finally found Can
Coramines, outside Bezalu. It is run by a Frenchman and an
Englishwoman, and feels much more like a French site. It is another
place we have visited many times.
We stayed there 3 nights, and explored
the local area. It is a volcanic region called La Garrotxa, and it's
a hidden treasure. Bezalu is a beautiful little medieval town, and
one afternoon we watched the residents perform a lengthy and sedate
dance called La Sardana in the town square. On the way to
Argelagauer we passed an amazing structure made by a local for his
own amusement. It consisted of tunnels and turrets through young
branches that had been tied together. It was a complete maze and was
decorated with all sorts of oddities. Even at 42 the urge to clamber
all over it was irresistable and it took the best part of an hour to
fully appreciate it. Sadly it's gone now.
Castellfollit de la Roca is another
amazing place. As you approach it from the road you can see the
whole village spread out on a rocky outcrop like something from a
fantasy movie. The mountain top village of Riput is even more
marvellous. The houses mould themselves around the rocks and appear
to grow out of the mountain. I keep thinking I must get the film of
these places converted into digital images, but perhaps I'll go back
and take more photos instead.
We left Spain 4 days before we were due
to catch the ferry. We stopped in Andorra to get some real duty free
booze (they are not part of Europe and we noticed that the French
customs were only pulling over French drivers. By the time we came
to travel to the UK it was assumed we'd bought the booze in France
and paid the local duty - bargain!)
On the way to Foix we took a detour to
visit Montsegur. It's a ruin on a rocky outcrop and has long
fascinated me because I had read a book about the siege. The
fortress is in the heart of Cathar country, and was the last
stronghold of followers of this religion. The Cathars rejected the
greed of the established church and lived a simple life. Both men
and women were ministers, and survived by caring for the local
community, who provided them with food in return. A local lord built
the castle for them when they became the subject of a crusade by the
church. They held out till the end but eventually the castle was
overrun and all its occupants were burned at the stake. It's now a
ruin, and you need to be fit to visit it because the only approach is
incredibly steep. They must have been amazingly fit.
We travelled north, getting lost in
Toulouse (we always do unless we use Satnav), and taking our time to
savour the last of our holiday. One final port of call is Giverney,
the home of the artist Monet. I enjoy gardening and found this place
very interesting, as it was planted to paint rather than for
botanical interest. We've been a couple more times since, because
it's packed with seasonal flowers and always different.
After that holiday, I became hooked and
its difficult to keep me in the UK now. For me, the thing that I
have always enjoyed most is seeing how other folks live their lives,
and generally expanding my horizons. You don't get that in a holiday
resort, so wherever I go, I will always choose a camper over any
other kind of holiday.
Where I stayed:
Camping Municipal - Bois de Boulogne
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