This morning I headed into a mountain valley just south of Foix. One of the estate agents I spoke to had a property for sale there. This house was on at 260,000 euro but the prices seem for more speculative than in the UK. I didn’t really want to waste the estate agents time, as at this stage I’m really just fact finding and seeing what you can get for your money. I suggested I drive there myself and look around the outside before getting them to come along a second time. I didn’t have an exact address but just general directions and a picture. So I was quite surprised not only to find it half way up a mountain track, but as I pulled up, the owner was outside just saying goodbye to what I assume were other potential buyers. He welcome me and invited me in to look around. He spoke no English whatsoever so we made do in my French.
Now this place was brand new. Built of natural stone and oak on a mountainside about half a kilometre from the nearest village on a plot of about 2000 m². It’s almost ideal. The only issue is it didn’t have a garage (ie. Workshop) and I need a big one. Is the kind of thing I want but I don’t want it built for me. I’d rather buy the land and do it myself or buy an old one cheap and renovate it. This place was new and polished and the views were awesome.
Business done I headed back out of the valley. I stopped at Aldi’s to pick up some more oil when disaster struck. I got out of the car and shut the door and it just bounced back open. Taking a closer look I realised that the aluminium strut that the locking catch bolts onto had become torn. I know how this happened, often as I jump into the land rover my belt gets hooked onto the catch and yanks it. Eventually it tore. It is only aluminium. Now this wouldn’t be such a disaster if, a few weeks ago the actual lock barrel on the passenger side door hadn’t completely dropped out of the door. Since this happened I can only lock the passenger side from the inside. But now I can’t even close the driver side door except from the inside (by holding the catch in place). The passenger seat and foot-well is a storage area for much of my stuff so I cannot climb across. So now I either leave the door OPEN or climb out through the back. I can only climb out through the back if I’ve set up camp and so the back isn’t full of stuff. The long and short of it... If I drive into town, I have to leave the door open!.. unless I’ve put the tent up and the back is clear... clear?... yeah... like mud!
So facing the prospect of shortening my trip (not just this... money reasons too) I headed west from Foix, taking the scenic route to St. Giron. Now ‘scenic’ it definitely was, ‘steep’ was another way of describing it. Only 57 Km to St. Giron but when you are averaging 20 Km / hour in second gear that is a very long way. The shear 500m drops, first on the left... then on the right, combined with a large drainage ditch on the other side and many hair pin bends where you couldn’t see what was coming around the corner, means you couldn’t take your eyes off the road for a second, not even to admire the views. Neither was the slope shallow enough to provide for the odd viewpoint where you could pull over.
The big problem
Now this is a Land rover, it has a huge amount of torque but it is also carrying a lot of weight. A 2 ton car, with 2 tanks of fuel (plus a case load of oil from Lidl’s), a 20 Ltr water tank, a log burner, food, wine, fridge, quite a bit of ply wood (in the interior and bedroom) and a leisure battery and gas tank. This is not a car... it is a small house. By the time it struggled to the top of the mountain, steam was starting to appear from under the bonnet. I literally just reached the pass and pulled over as the engine let go and emitted something akin to a mushroom cloud of steam.
“What a fantastic place to break down!!”. The views are incredible; you can see the plateau forming the base of the really high mountains in Andora. A faint line drawing the distinction between land and sky, but not down there... up really high about 80Km distant and on a level with my eye. 80Kms of Earths surface seems to have done nothing to diminish the height of those mountains! ‘Col du port’ is the name of the pass here.
There are quite a few cars and motor homes up here and in no time a crowd had gathered around my steaming car. There was much scratching of chins and agreement of “c’est grande problem”. I sat down and consulted my cheese and olives for inspiration while taking in the view. I would be quite happy to set up camp here only the last time I camped on a mountain top the wind blew my tent right off the edge, almost with me in it... in the middle of the night... I was butt naked! I still have a small scar to remind me of that night.
Don’t worry... the universe is cool
Now I’m quite philosophical about situations like this. Everything happens for a reason I believe even if it is not immediately obvious. The Desiderata says something about “the universe unfolding the way it should” and to accept everything that comes your way. I believe this to be true. The mysterious plan the universe had in store for me was still a secret. But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s not something to do with the blog. The story certainly seems to be writing itself with little or no help from me. So much happens that is write-worthy the only problem I have is deciding what to throw away, and believe me, it’s quite a lot.
As I sit there my fear of being stranded on a mountaintop is re-affirmed by an approaching storm. I could hear thunder getting closer... with each clap it seemed to get considerably louder and the sky is darkening all around. What’s the chances of getting struck by lightning on the very peak of the highest mountain around in a metal box?
The gloaters
One of the gathered gloaters asked me where I lived, “Angleterre” I said. “Huh? Angleterre??? Sacrea bleu!! C’est TRES grande problem!!”. “Oui... Oui”, everyone agreed that this made the problem considerably worse, while giving me a look that suggests I’m really up shit creak. Thanks to all those concerned for the moral support and offers of help!
Now I wasn’t overly concerned... yet! I knew the land rover had a small split in the overflow tank and it tended to leak steam under high pressure occasionally! It happened once on a very small scale. This time though there was a huge amount of steam and water pouring out from underneath and so far I hadn’t opened the bonnet for fear of getting my face burnt off. The reason I bought a Land rover Defender is because 75% of all those ever made are still on the road. They have been making them since 1950! This says something about the ruggedness of the vehicle. The engine is unlikely to cease the first time it overheats... unlike that piece of merde they call the Vauxhall combo van (I only owned it for 2 days!).
Now by the time the engine had cooled down a bit I was almost out of cheese and olives and was slightly anxious that this didn’t turn into a double tragedy. I remembered a trick Sean suggested; heat up a spoon and melt the side of the tank to close the split. Trouble was it was so windy up there it was difficult to get my teaspoon really hot with the wind blowing the flame around. I did my best... I certainly didn’t make it any worse (the engine that is... my future cups of tea on the other hand might need work)... I poured in 6 Ltrs of water from my leisure tank and resolved to keep a close eye on it. I keyed the ignition and was rewarded by the familiar clanky old rattle, that was the engines way of saying “...had ya! I’m just kidding you around... nothing is seriously wrong.... now go tell those French gloaters to go buy a Land rover with a big union jack on the back!!”
All the same I decided to take the road of least ascent from here on, at least for a while. I borrowed a Dutch ladies map to check there were no more serious peaks from here to St. Giron. There didn’t seem to be any.
Best give the old steed a rest
A few kilometres on from the pass and back down in the valley I came across the small village of Massat (or something like that). It’s not on my map. Anyway there is a municipal campsite signposted and it’s just on the edge of the village on a small hill. ‘Great’ I thought, it gives me time to check the car over. I setup camp close to a line of trees for shade. It’s a really lovely spot with great views of the mountains opposite. Hmmm cheap too. I could stay here a couple of days I reckon. No sooner had I finished setting up than the campsite director came over. He was smiling (a good sign). “I like your Land rover” he said slowly in English.
He was a thin, intelligent looking man with a walking stick, about late forties I’d reckon. I liked him instantly. Not because he likes landrovers, although that is a good sign, but because his lined face looked like it had a thousand stories to tell. Maybe that or maybe because he reminded me a little of an old mate called Ade. I’d also like to think that he would remind me of me, in a few years time... maybe if I laid off the sausages.
“Merci” I said. He was from Ghana. “I’ve seen these in the Sahara”, he said. “Yes I’ve heard”. They use them a lot in Morocco. I apparently did not invent the roof tent :-( You need a tough 4x4 in the sand and the landrovers are simple enough to fix if they go wrong. Let’s face it, in the dessert, if you can’t fix it, you’re probably gonna die! “I designed this myself”, I said.
So while we did the business of paying for the site he invited me to sit at a small terrace behind the municipal reception office. A Dutch guy was also sitting there waiting to pay. “Would you both like to try my homemade cider?” he asks. “Oui... of course”... that would be very agreeable to the both of us. This is not the kind of treatment I am used to. I have noticed however that the hospitality of those from African decent really knows no bounds. So we sat there drinking cider while listening to ambient African music. It was very chilled.
He did the Dutch guy first. Now they have quite a complicated pay structure on most of these campsites. It’s something like;
cost of place +
cost of camping-car (motor home) OR cost of tents +
cost of adults / children +
cost of electric (if required) +
cost of car (if accompanying a tent) +
animals (if you have any) +
tax
Suffice it to say you never quite know how much you’re paying till they tell you, especially if you have an unusual setup like me. I am often amused when they ask; “Do you ‘ave a dog?”.... “Do I need one?” I usually reply. An additional complication is that this campsite has different costs depending on the size of your tent.
“So.. ‘ow would you describe it”.. he says to me, pointing to the landrover. “A car + small tent” I said (naturally, it’s the slightly cheaper option). “Hmmm” he muses, at which point another older African guy walks over. This guy is another one of the tenants and speaks perfect English with an English accent. His voice reminds me of some of those I’ve heard narrating documentaries. “I’m quite rude to the French he says... I remind them that the whole world talks English now”. He is actually French himself but was educated in England. “So”, the other guy says to him “ ’ow would you describe it”, “what?” he says, “..it... what is over there...” he says again pointing. “What? I can’t see it” he says again, “it... what is next to your tent” he says.... “...ooo la la!” the other guy exclaims. So it is generally agreed in all good nature that we need an ‘oo la la’ category within the payment structure. I suggested it should be cheap on the grounds of encouraging ingenuity.
Indians are here in their tee-pees
From here on the conversation moves to the Ghanaian football team and their recent success in the world cup, moving to France and considerations thereof and women (and where to find the best ones). They then asked for a closer look at the Land rover. They marvelled at the log burner and the huge box of oil I had bought for fuel. I explained that I have two tanks, a small one with diesel in, and the main one for oil and / or diesel, whatever I can find really. The Ghanaian guy laughs pointing to my bottles of wine and said something in French.... I couldn’t translate but it was instantly obvious what he meant; “...and this is fuel for you??!!!”. And that, I found really funny!
Gypsies too??! Actually this is where the Ghanaian guy rests
A question of sexuality
At this point the other guy looking up at my bedroom area says, “Is there room for a woman up there too?”. Now I find it’s often important to lightly address the subject of sexuality when in the company of men you don’t know, just so everyone knows where you stand and so that you know which side of the fence they are on. The last thing anyone wants to do is cause offence by an ill-placed remark or joke, or give any false impressions. “But of course....” I said, in a tone which suggested that although I travel alone I’m not terribly happy about going to bed each night on my own... “... a short one!” I added. “One taller than me will require modification of the vehicle”.
This guy seemed impressed enough with the Land rover to come back later with his camera. I was impressed enough with the easy going hospitality that I’m starting to think my next trip will be to North Africa. Indeed as I sit here I’m wondering if the universe’s secret plan is conspiring to send me there.
Now the other guy pointed out that its illegal in France (like England) to pour new veg oil (meant for cooking) into your tank because fuel duty has not been paid. And I’ve put a sign on the back of my vehicle telling people why they can smell chips!! As the Ghanaian guy pointed out, luckily I included the word “dechette”, ie. Waste. I believe if you’re recycling waste then it’s not counted as fuel. As well to remember though, if I get pulled by the police for a blinker not working, steam coming out the front, door hanging off, something on the roofrack flapping, best not let them see my boxes of cooking oil from Lidl’s. That would be a double tragedy. I supposed I could always say, like I said to the girl in Lidl’s at Rodez... “I really like chips!!”
