Day 29 – Narbonne plage

[I've just updated another 4 days worth. If you want to catch start reading at day 26]

I was rudely awoken this morning by a big black spider running up my arm! Nothing, it seems, gets you up and out of bed more quickly.

Today I had planned to do some work. After breakfast and a shower I set up my desk and office chair, complete with cafeteire full of proper coffee. Just like in a real office. This though is definitely the coolest office I ever worked in. I’ll try and describe it;

The office

Behind me are a row of olive trees and in front two much larger trees delimiting the left and right extent of my plot. The ground is sandy and covered with a layer of dead grassy stuff that looks and feels a little like dead pine needles but isn’t. It’s lovely and warm to walk on barefoot. To my left is the Landrover, to the right the tent and in the middle is my office. I figured from yesterday that if I place the desk as far back as I can, I get until 12.30 in the shade before I’m in direct sunlight. Then I move my desk forward and to the left and I’m in the shade of the big tree in front. Perfect! I also have my mains powered desk fan which is really coming into its own now. All around are birds and butterflies (I know it sounds a bit gay), but it really is pretty cool. Although not tame the birds will happily rummage around in the dirt just 2 feet away from my.. well.. my two feet. And there is something in the trees that sounds like a parrot. I’ve not yet seen anything resembling a parrot but I can hear it as I write this.


Now despite the great office environment I got little in the way of work done today. It was 35 degrees in the shade this afternoon and it was as much as I could manage to stay conscious. I did however refresh my memory on where I got up to on this work project. I checked the forecast and it’s going to be much cooler tomorrow so hopefully I’ll get more done then. I’ll aim for an early start too.

School-girl crush

By about 5.30 I’d given up and went for another shower.. you need at least two a day in weather like this. When I came back I decided to cook the last of my duck and curried vegetables. I know... but I’m getting sick of salad! Now a group of people have just turned up and moved into a caravan on one side of me (incidentally the big French motor home on the other side has gone). I think the campsite has a few caravans for rent if you don’t have your own. Now there is a young girl in this family group. I’m not very good at ages but I would have guessed about 18 but could easily be less. She said ‘Bonjour’ as I passed her walking back from the shower. This is standard procedure and everyone does it. Now she’s only a girl, but with very large lumps in all the right places and seems to know how to make the most of her curves. While I was cooking dinner she walked over to the water receptacle on the other side of my plot, bent over to fill her bottle and while bent over looked around at me to see if I was checking out her ‘derrier’, which well... guess I was.. a bit. She smiled at me then walked back to get another bottle and did the same again. Not just twice... four times! When she had filled everything she had with water she disappeared and came back with a massive black bucket, and each time she would look around and smile... whilst bending over the water receptacle! I put it down to a school-girl crush, but still, can’t she be locked up for that kind of behaviour?

Trouble with the beetles

As if this situation wasn’t already interfering with my cooking ability another one of those bugs that keeps flying into me did it again while I was cooking and not 5 minutes later another went straight into my bubbling pan of curried veggies! I hooked him out pretty sharpish, but then later again while I was sat down eating another dived straight into bread and butter! Jesus! These things are big black flying beetles and they don’t seem to have any kind of landing strategy. You know like flies and mosquitos and such like, hover a bit... go in for a taste, fly away quickly before you swat it, then come back etc.. strategy see! Now these aren’t the alien UAV bugs, at about an inch in length they are not quite as big but equally as reckless. What with the flies as well it seemed the quicker I could eat my dinner the better. As I write this another bug of some description has just piped up in the tree above me. Really loud... I’m sure it’s a Sikada.

While I sat there eating dinner with the sun still at full blast, the horizon to the east has darkened slightly and I can hear thunder quite close. Yet there is not a cloud above me and the sun is fierce! Still I think a storm is needed to make the temperature drop.

The girl next door has now taken to walking the dog. She’s done it twice already while I’ve been here working and later after dark she drags the poor exhausted animal out in her dressing gown! Somehow I don’t think it’s her pet’s health that is on her mind. Don’t her parents do any of the work?


After dinner I covered myself in insect repellent and then went for a walk down to the lagoon. Incidentally if you’ve ever gotten some of that stuff in your mouth you will realise why it’s a pretty good woman repellent too!! I stood in the lagoon with the warm water up to my ankles looking for shell fish in the silt. I found 4 tiny cockles and a welk. Hardly enough to make a paella with so I left them. Still it was a lovely time of day to be out there with the sun getting low, and there was a really hot wind blowing in my face. The thunder had stopped. It was great!

Now this schoolgirl crush thing is already getting out of hand. Later on as I’m back at camp updating the blog in the darkness she has an argument with her mum. Maybe she wants to walk the dog again in her underwear or fill something up with water. Clearly I am the source of the problem as she’s spent the last half hour looking out the window at me. I pretended not to notice. Why is it I’m always having issues with my French neighbours?

Day 28 – Narbonne Plage

Good news!! The internet works here! So I can update the blog and do some work. I’ll start tomorrow. I went to the toilet block to get washed and brush my teeth. Despite only being 2 stars (which means it’s cheap and less like a holiday camp), they have very modern and very clean sanitary blocks, a small shop, and a bar-cafe all on site! They even take my discount card. The people here are also far more like me. Younger, more tents, less motor homes.

While I was brushing my teeth in the sanitary block I put the tap on and the water ran out... all over my feet! It wasn’t plumbed in! None of them were! Oh well, no big deal, the toilets are plumbed in thank god. No wonder they’re so clean looking, they’ve only just been built.

If I’m going to do some work there won’t be much to report so I might give the blog a rest for a few days and carry on again later. I’ll probably visit some immobliers (estate agents) in town too and get a closer look at some of those derelicts on the road in.

The lagoon

Now the campsite is about 700 yards from the beach (5 minute walk maybe). In between the campsite and the beach is a large expanse of inland water which I first thought to be a man made reservoir. On second inspection it turns out to be natural harbour which gets cut off from the sea when the tide goes out. A lagoon I believe they call it, right? All around it are sandy spots with people sunbathing. It’s far more appealing looking than the beach itself. I soon realised that the campsite has got 4, not very clearly marked gates right into it. One of which is just 30 seconds walk from my camp.

Jacey

So with the blog updated for the last 2 nights (not uploaded though), I set off with my towel under my arm. Half way across the lagoon I noticed a guy with a fishing rod inspecting a bag of stuff. I went over for a closer look. It turns out to be the security guard from last night. He didn’t recognise me at first, or even remember me even when I explained. Us white guys probably look all the same to them right? He spoke little more English than I do French. When I removed my shades and said “Landrover”.... “Ah! I remember yes!”. Jacey’s mother is Sicilian and his father from Ethiopia.

He hadn’t caught any fish but the bag was full of shellfish; welks to be precise. With the tide leaving they were easy pickings in the shallow water. Now finding shellfish is a favourite pastime of mine. Nothing more satisfying than cooking food you found or caught yourself. So we stood there in the shallow warm water for about 45 minutes, talking about all sorts of stuff. Most of the time I think neither of us was sure if we were engaged in the same conversation, but that didn’t matter. Clearly we were both enjoying the sun, the location and the task in hand; I, with my beer, him with his bottle of red wine (he reckons it helps keep the mosquitos away – or ‘mostique’ as they say in French).


Eventually I told him I was going to explore the rest of the beach and I’ll pass back this way in a couple of hours. The lagoon is just awesome, this spot is idyllic. You could even walk into Narbonne-plage (the town bit of the beach) in about 40 minutes, actually along the beach itself.

Thats Narbonne-plage in the distace

A note on language

When I returned I noticed he had two books on learning the English language, one with a picture of a welsh guard on the front (busby headgear and all). I laughed and plonked my French dictionary down alongside them. I was very pleased that he was learning English and mentioned that people learn it but then don’t want to use it. He said “but English people don’t want to learn our language. Why?”. Clearly I was seeing the other side of the argument here, and it seems a very reasonable point. I justified it to him by saying that English people travel in many countries and to learn every language in its entirety is a very tall order. In truth I was justifying it from my point of view but even then it felt like an excuse. I think the truth of the matter is more like this; Like it or not English IS the closest thing the world has to an international language. Attempts such as Esperanto have died and since most people have a basic understanding of English that’s simply the way it is. Now if a French person goes on holiday to Turkey, do they learn Turkish first? No, because they know they both have English as an international language. In short I think the French forget the reason they learn English is not out of respect for the English, but so they can travel in the rest of the world. I think it’s a source of irritation to the French though since for so long the two great nations have been on an equal footing in terms of world domination. Therefore as a mark of respect it’s especially important that English people in particular at least learn the basics. Having said that I’ve noticed during my many travels that you rarely see French people travelling in areas where they can’t speak the language (in other words mainly French and English speaking countries).


Later Jacey and I watched Germany demolish Englands chances of winning the world cup. Everyone else watching the telly in the cafe appeared to be German. Jacey said he was supporting England. No-one else seemed to be.

Squirrels and spiders

As I sit here updating the blog I’ve become aware of the source of a noise I’ve been hearing for a while. Frolicking in the trees above me are red squirrels. You don’t see them in England any more but there are at least two in the trees right above my tent and they both just jumped a clear 12 inch gap from one tree to another. There is also a very strange looking spider on my table. It’s tiny, about 7 millimeters across and it jumps. Now that is not unusual but this is; its third leg on each side is much thicker and longer than the others and every now and again it stops and lifts that leg and waves it in the air as if its sampling the air itself... via its leg. I keep blowing it away but it keeps re-appearing. It seems very aware of me. Every time I move, it darts behind something, really quick like. Its currently walking... actually running, along the power cable linking my laptop to my landrover.

The friendship exchange program

Jacey popped over later before he started worked. It occurred to me that he could make better use of Ferris’s space rocket than I could. I presented it to him explaining that it is only a small gift but it has a ‘grande histoire’ (a big story) attached to it. And now “...you are a part of that story”. However he must learn English better to understand the complete story. So then clearly as part of the friendship exchange program he said, “ok, then you must except this.... I won’t except no!”. Now what he presented me with in the priority stakes was without precedent. I’ve never even seen one before. If I had I would most certainly have bought it. It was a knife, similar to the Swiss army knife that we’ve all seen, only there is a spoon and a fork attached. When you open them up the two sides of the knife unlock and split apart so you can use them independently! How cool is that?? Clearly I’m not going to know how I survived without it! Ok, Ok... boys stuff! Can’t help feeling he got a raw deal here though.

Day 27 – On to Narbonne

Early the next morning with all my chores done the day before, including uploading 5 days of blog late at night, I was on the road again!! Ahhh... love that feeling! It’s the best bit... new horizons! Oh god what MORE stunning scenery? My Dutch neighbours waved me goodbye as I left. I took the local road the 30 or so kilometres down to Narbonne which was a good move.

Between Avignon and Beziers the landscape is quite flat and uninspiring. In fact around Valras-plage it all looks a little run down. The local road to Narbonne winds through loads of vineyards and the scenery gets gradually more rocky and hilly. There are many derelict old stone cottages amongst the vineyards. Now this was what I have been looking for!


I might want to stay here a little longer so I wanted to familiarise myself with the area. I drove through the centre of Narbonne town to get my bearings. It’s a really lovely looking town with loads of cafes and a canal that runs right through the middle. I then drove out to Narbonne-plage (Narbonne beach – also a small town in its own right) about 10 kilometers from the main town. That drive is beautiful, rocky, hilly, vineyards, views of the sea from cliff tops etc. After this I drove to the campsite next to the inlet of sea that I saw on the DVD Rom, while stopping at many others along the way. Now all of these campsite had a single common flaw – none had adequate shade provided by trees. The midday sun is relentless now and this is vital for me. If I’m going to be sat there working, I don’t want to go all crispy.

The little game

So I ended up driving back to Narbonne-plage where there is a campsite right in the middle of the town. The reception was closed so the guard on the gate refused to let me in. The reception re-opens at 4. Now normally let they you in anyway, you choose your spot then, then you go to reception when it opens. But this guy says no! Speaking only in French he said you park outside, and walk in, choose your spot, come back and tell me the number, THEN I’ll let you drive in! Now the only place to park outside was just outside the gate in a single car spot clearly marked ‘NO PARKING’ with bright yellow stripes. If I leave my car there I am going to get a ticket right? I could see right through his devious plan. You soon get used to this kind of behaviour. Now, there was a map of the site outside his office and he explained, which parts where ‘ouvert’ (open), which parts ‘fermer’ (closed) and which parts ‘sans electrique’ (without electricity). I asked do you have a copy for me to take with me? ‘Non!’ – again very non-standard procedure. So I have to memorise the map of a very large campsite then run around looking for a shady spot (with electric) as quickly as possible before I get a ticket! "C'est non complicad" he laughs as he waggles his finger at me! This is his little game. Still there is nothing you can do. If you lose for temper and things turn bad you are very much a second class citizen here in many people’s eyes, and you cannot explain your side of the story, to the police or whoever.

Sarah and Tobias

So, while calmly looking around for my spot I met an English lady; Sarah, who had driven down from Toulouse with her young son for a nights camping. “Why wouldn’t he let you in with your car?” she said, quite reasonably. She arrived only a few minutes before me with the reception closed and he let her drive in. She was worried though because he had told her that she probably wouldn’t be able to stay without her passport. This was a complete and deliberate lie. Sarah, explained to me that some people – most notably life’s under-achievers – let the small amount of power they are given really go to their head. Sometimes the answer is simply ‘Non!’ and you then have to use reason... and the French language to change it to a ‘Oui’. It is a petty game, but one which sometimes you have to play. Sarah needed help banging her pegs in as the ground was rock hard. I had a hammer and promised to come back and help her soon as I was established somewhere. She wasn’t going to start putting her tent up until the reception told her she can stay. I told her not to worry about her lack of passport.

I ended up at a far more friendly place just a kilometre down the road. They’re reception re-opened at 3 so I waited in their cafe-bar and had a beer. Now the majority of people, especially the campsite staff are very friendly. They establish which is your native language and speak it without you having to embarrass yourself by asking ‘do you speak xxxx’.


When the reception re-opened, a queue of people had formed all wanting to get their spot. When it was my turn the girl explained “go and choose at least 2 places because some are allocated then come back and tell us which ones”. I choose the 3 shadiest spots I could find. Now... do I leave my car in the first spot (thereby kind of reserving it) while I walk back to reception? or do I drive back and thereby get my place allocated quicker? I decided to drive back. ‘Plot numero trios-un-un’ (311) ?... “no c’est prendre” (its taken), 325?.... “non”, “320?”... “Oui! C’est bon!” (yes, its ok!). Good! With my plot officially allocated on their computer I rushed back with the car. I will erect the tent and use that so that I have use of the car over the next few days. It will also give it a chance to dry out. It got was soaked when I last packed it up during the bad weather in the Auvergne.

Trouble with the neighbours

Now when I got back to my plot, a French family had parked they’re monstrous motor home on it and were sunning themselves on their sun loungers. At this stage my blood was starting to boil. I didn’t lose it though. I played the game. I informed them in my pigeon French that they had to register the spot with reception like I had just done. This was my spot. Sorry... it’s complicated I said but it’s not my rules. The guy was about my age, with his wife and what I assume was one of their grandmothers. The frail old lady looked at me with a look of contempt and said something which I’m pretty sure was “I’m 89 you know!!!”. Now it was my turn to shrug and say “Sorry... I don’t speak French!!”. Now I’m not much of a shrugger but that was the most satisfying shrug of my life.

You see by this time I was fresh out of good will by being dicked around by people that think there better than me. I don’t give a flying rat arse if she was as old the pharaohs themselves, this was my spot and she was gonna move even if I had to drag her rotting carcass to the end of the earth myself!!!

When the wife came back from speaking to the reception they agreed they must move. So where do they move to?? Of course! Next door! The other two actually seemed quite good natured, just the cantankerous old bat wasn’t happy about being put in her place by and Englishman of all people!

So, once the camp was deployed I went back to help Sarah with her tent pegs. The reception guard was gone and the barrier was up so I drove straight in. Sarah had moved to Toulouse two years ago with her husband who works for Airbus. Her husband is not the camping sort and she wants Tobias go grow up with camping in his blood. Good move! She had lots of useful advice on locations and how to deal with the occasional French Hitlers (as she called them). We drank beer while Tobias made a terrible mess of his pasta in tomato sauce. It was great to be speaking fluently in English again. I really miss it sometimes.

One-upmanship

Now this game of one-upmanship that sometimes goes on, I suspect it’s not solely directed at the English. I think the French (some French) do it to each other. I often notice French people getting irate with each other much more often than we do in England. However to be fair, in England such situations are more far more likely to end in violence. Now not speaking good French puts me at an immediate disadvantage to those that want to play the game. It then occurred to me that maybe this is why everyone in France works to their own timetable. Anyone who has ever tried to get a home built in France by French workman will know what I’m talking about. Maybe to be seen to be working to someone else’s timetable is to be in some way inferior to that other person. The English of course would consider it simple good work ethic, ie. ‘good for business, good for me!’

As I left the guard was back at his post and looked at me shocked as I drove passed, as if to say “you’re not supposed to be inside!”. I pointed at him and laughed “Ah! You STILL there?”. I said it in English. Of course he understood me. I drove into town for some dinner.

Later as I was walking along the beach I bumped into Sarah and Tobias again so we sat on the sea wall while Tobias played with some French kids in the sand. It was a really lovely bit of beach, and this time of day (about 9pm) is the ideal time to enjoy it. As we sat there a giant red moon rose over the horizon; coloured deep red by some kind of atmospheric pollution or pollen and magnified by the thicker atmosphere near the horizon. We call it a harvest moon because of the time of year.

Now I want to emphasise that the little Hilters are a minority but they can cause big problems. To illustrate this point, when I got back to the campsite the barrier was down; that was ok I had the code for the barrier, but the guard had just finished padlocking a big steel sliding gate behind it that I had not noticed before. It closes at 10.30 he said. Buggar! He explained I had to leave my car in the carpark and walk in. Luckily I had set the tent up but all my stuff was in the car, including everything I needed to cook breakfast in the morning. It wasn’t the end of the world but when he looked inside the Landrover and saw all my stuff he said, “ok... I do execption!, remember next time; 10:30”.

Day 26 – Valras-Plage

So tomorrow came and I was busy updating the blog by the time checkout passed, so I will go tomorrow to Narbonne. I am quite happy at the moment. Despite having little in common with anyone here, today it doesn’t seem to bother me. It is very hot and sunny, I have a shady spot (always my top priority) and it gives me a chance to catch up on some things. I’m actually quite enjoying it here. I might even have a dip in the sea later. I‘m keeping the blog up to date in the hope that eventually I’ll be able to upload it.

I also have a mild case of WIND. This is a similar condition to VIND only is caused by wine instead of vodka. Nothing to do with sausage.

Could be home earlier than expected

I’m beginning to wonder whether this trip is going to work on two levels. The bad news from the agency was that despite promising to rent out my house the day after I left, they did sod all with it for 3 weeks, and then presented me with a list of things they wanted to change. So it’s costing me a lot to be here and when the high reason starts imminently the prices will increase. The other thing is the terrible internet. It’s simply impossible to do my work with it like this at the moment, plus I have only 30 days to use all the internet I paid for now that I activated my second lot. I could be coming home early!

Today I saw one of the alien super-bugs squashed on the pavement. No antenna was in evidence. In fact while I was writing this a few moments ago in the dark one almost flew straight into me. Gave me a hell of a fright. My face must have been lit up quite well by the laptop screen. Flying around at high speed in the dark is all very well provided you can see in the dark. X-ray vision my A*se!

The beach

I went to the beach this afternoon. It reminds me very much of studland beach, wrinkly old tits and all. It’s a wide sandy beach with sand dunes at one end. Being a couple of kilometres from the town centre it’s not very busy on the beach; just the few people from the various campsites who made it this far. Not a single person in the sea!!!? Not one, as far as the eye can see! Jelly fish? Rip tides? Sharks? All of these I have encountered on my travels but within half an hour I was in. No tides, no jellyfish, and all my limbs still appeared intact. It was quite cold which was a surprise. It doesn’t take long to dry off though. I get terribly bored on the beach, I spent half an hour in the sea and half an hour drying off then headed back to camp. I noticed with amusement as I left, the sea now had quite a few people in it... was it people, or was it sheep? Very difficult to tell sometimes.

I lost one of my cups today which is a real pain. I only had 2. Now cups feature very highly on the priorities thing. I may be able to fashion a new one out of a bit of my old boot. In fact I could have a matching pair.

I discovered that I can get the internet working here after 11 at night and before 8 in the morning. Any other time the puny network is so congested you can’t even open a single page without being disconnected. If things are better tomorrow in Narbonne I’ll stop there for a week to get some work done.

Day 25 – Arles (not Ales!) then onto Beziers

[just updated for the last 5 days - internet reception hasn't been possble. Go back to day 21 if you want to catch up]

The next day I packed up early and drove the 30 Km down to Arles. I wanted to see the town and call in at another (friendlier) SFR telephone shop. Arles is on the coast but it is in the middle of the vaste swamp area called the Camargue so there is no beach here. Not that I saw anyway during my brief visit. It is yet another old walled town.

I arrived about 11 am and parked the car illegally just outside the wall. I had just 1 hour to find an SFR shop, explain the problem in French and get it sorted, before they closed for 2 hours. I was hoping to drive 100 Km to Beziers this afternoon so if I missed the 12 deadline the trip to Arles would have been a waste. Either that or spend the night in Arles.

Now, find the office du tourism I did very quickly. Picked up a map, had the girl pinpoint the location of the shop which was only a 5 min walk and I got there by 11.30. Good no queue! There was a big demonstration going on outside and they were closing the roads – thankfully I just squeezed through! I explained to the young lad Sebastian using a combination of hand gestures and very pigeon French what the problem was, I made no effort in English and neither asked if he spoke it. Within minutes he was on the case. He made several phone calls. The people at the other end obviously said, ‘well everything is fine here – it should be working’. I had bought the laptop and could clearly demonstrate that it did not work. The connection was made but then the other computer says ‘non!’ and disconnects. Several more phone calls and ring backs later Sebastian clearly had an explanation and explained to me in English... ‘Le problem... it is not yours... it is whole of France. Le Network!’. “But for 5 days?” I said, “everywhere I’ve been – even in the middle of Avignon”. “Yes!” they have big problems, he said. But it should be ok now. Clearly it wasn’t. So I said “ok then”, show me it working. He tried, 5 times to connect, 5 times it failed. On the 6th time it worked! We loaded a web page then it stops again.

So now you know why in France you pay for time used, and not megabytes downloaded. Because you pay for your time which is then wasted because the network is so patchy and unreliable. But clearly there was no problem with my account, just the network. I had to live with it. I thanked him for his efforts. Now why couldn’t the girls in the Avignon shop have done that?

I got back to the car (hadn’t been towed despite being parked round the back of the police station) and got on the road to Beziers. Arles? lovely place by the way.

Autres Directions

This one amuses me. Several times while navigating my way out of the town I follow the ‘Toutes (all) Directions’ sign. All the major routes and inter-city signs are marked like this on green signs. You pass several junctions and roundabouts following ‘toutes directions’ and then the next green sign you see says ‘Autre (other) directions’. Hold on! Did I miss something? What if the one I wanted was included in the ‘All’ but not in the ‘Other?’.

Services

So problem resolved, I’m on the road to Beziers by 12.30. I stop at a motorway services to fill up. Diesel this time as I haven’t seen a Lidl’s in a while. I buy something that resembles a sandwhich.... but doesn’t taste like a sandwhich. French motorway service food is cheap looking, only it’s not cheap. They dress it up in brightly coloured packaging like you do with kids toys to make them look more appealing. 4 euros 90 I paid for my ham mustard baguette which was so lubricated by the mustardy mayonnaisey gunk inside that it soon disintegrated and most of it ended up in my lap while I was driving. The lemonade was nice though.

As I was pulling out of the services a guy on the motorway overtakes me. He is waving as he passes. Landrover? – no not quite – he has a Hilux – Ah! English number plate. It really is that rare to see English people here. On the campsite in Avignon I only saw one other – a large motor home.

I got to Beziers in good time and despite being close to the sea this is the first time I have actually seen it. Beziers like all medium sized towns is not actually on the beach. There a small village / resort called Valras-Plage which has the only campsites. Its 20Km into Beziers so I won’t be walking into town in the evenings. Now most of the campsites on the beech are about 2Km from Valras-Plage so even that is quite a long walk.

The thing is that these sea-side campsites are more like holiday camps, with prices to match. The average 14 euros / night I have been paying so far has jumped to £25, and apparently it’s still low reason, the high season starts in a few days time (depending on the campsite and the prices will then jump to 35 odd euros). Many people have semi-permanent holiday homes within the campsite.

Now, there is no reason for people to want to walk into town, all they have come for is the sun and the sea. There are restaurants and shops on the campsites, several swimming pools complete with slidey log flumes, even a stage where people can be entertained. Most people it seems don’t even make it the few hundred yards to the beach, they sit there on their sun loungers next to their caravan or by the pool, getting their leathery skin as crispy as they can. Are their lives really so empty that they crave this? Mostly they are 60+ and all Dutch or German, but really no different to older English couples. When I’m 60 I’m gonna be experimenting with homemade unmanned space vehicles! For some reason I haven’t yet worked out the English don’t come here (probably all in the Dordogne).

I think it is nice to see all these old couples enjoying life together. Though they are very friendly and I get on well with all of them, I really have little in common with these people. Neither it seems do I have much in common with the younger super-posh super-snobs that end up in places like Avignon and other large towns in the area. I am here alone, surrounded by people but for the first time I am actually feeling a little lonely. The likes of Francious and Andreas are my kindred.

I had heard that campsites on the beach are like this and I wasn’t really expecting any different. The pictures on the DVD rom typically feature lots of grinning kids standing in a pool being entertained by a grown man dressed as a pirate. I couldn’t find a single picture of the surrounding countryside, except.... yes there is a place just outside Narbonne about 30 Kms down the road where the campsite is situated on a beautiful inlet of sea. It looks great. Also I could walk into town from there. I’ll go there tomorrow.


Later, as the sun set over the med I sat there in my little camp eating my Mediterranean dinner of French bread, ham, tomatoes, olives and of course, sausage. I went to bed about 11 to read my new book – Songs of Distant Earth (by Arthur C Clarke) – Awesome book. I’m only 15 pages in and I’m hooked.

Day 24 – A bad day in Avignon

This morning I went into town to try and resolve the problem. The kind and helpful lady in the campsite reception looked on her perfectly OK internet and pin pointed the location of the SFR shop for me. Now I’ve had a few bad experiences, but don’t feel inclined to write about them because I feel it simply gives ammunition to the irrationals on both sides of the channel. We have them too! This however threatens to cut my trip short. Updating the blog is a bit of fun, but if I’m unable to do my work I’ll be on the next boat back.

So I went into the shop and explained to the very young girl... in French, that it stopped working and I haven’t used my first lot of 15 hours yet. It connects ok but then is immediately disconnected by the computer at the other end. She said she spoke a little English so we proceeded in English. I asked her if she could check how much time was left on the SIM card. She said she couldn’t, but suspected I had run out of credit. But she couldn’t check that for me. It’s simply not possible she said!

So I said thank you and went to a nearby cafe and activated the second lot of credit I had pre-paid for (there were two lots of 39 euros). The helpful girl at the campsite reception later called the same number and verified that it had happened ok and should be fine. Only it wasn’t. It still didn’t work and now the clock was ticking. I had only 30 days to use all the internet I had already paid for... and it wasn’t working. The problems seemed to start when I sent the form back to get my 40 euros reimbursed. I never really quite understood why things were this complicated, but the girl in the SFR shop in Normandy said I must do it before the beginning of July!

So I went back to the shop. While queuing behind one guy for a while the girl at the counter (a different girl) looked around him and said to me, in French. If you can’t speak French we can’t help you. Now I know they can all speak adequate English but I’m not expecting it. I will speak in French I said, and continued to wait. What I was going to ask was quite straight forward and I knew how to say it in French, but clearly she wasn’t going to give me the opportunity. Then the Arabic looking guy in front of me asked if I spoke German? No I said, fully believing him to be trying to help. I honestly thought he was trying to find a common language to try and translate for me. “Italian? Spanish? Chinese?” he said with a big smile. Oh! I understand this primitive form of humour... sarcasm right?!! With my laptop in one hand and the bridge of his big Arabic nose just two foot in front of me it suddenly occurred to me... a new use for my otherwise redundant laptop! Yes, but then I’d be dealing with the very unhelpful French police, right? You had a lucky escape pal! “Gavareet pa-rooskie” (I speak Russian) I said to him in Russian, “do you??”.

Now the kids in the SFR – telephone shop will most certainly flunk their basic maths (when they start school!) and probably end up packing biscuits in St. Etienne. Trouble is I have work to do. And I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s worth doing the blog because I’m not sure now if what I’ve been writing the last 4 days will ever get uploaded. So if you never get to read this, you’ll never know the reason why you never read it!!! Does that make sense?

The real shame of course is that I’ve been ranting about this problem rather than describing the beautiful city of Avignon! Still overshadowing things it is and much as I try I can’t pretend otherwise. I will move on tomorrow..Probably to Nimes or Narbonne. Haven’t decided yet.


As if to compensate me for the days grief the old Avignon palace that overlooks the river provided me with one of the best evenings yet. I sat up there as the sun went down and it was the most serene and beautiful spot you could imagine. Below me was the river with its bridge that only half spans the river. Was it destroyed by and invading army? The rest of the city is intact. Maybe the French built half of it then thought... ‘oh sod it... let’s go to the beach!’.

Isn’t it always the case – when you see the best pics, all you have is your mobile phone camera!

In the distance about 40Km North east is a very high mountain, so high that even in the middle of summer there is still snow on its peak. Yesterday I thought it was cloud cover but today it is still there. Getting my bearings from the setting sun I looked at my map and identified it as Mt Ventoux (2000 meters).


In the other direction is a long chain of very rugged rocky mountains which at first I thought was the Pyrennes but then realised they were too close. These mountains had to be about 60Km away and the Pyrennees start at about 200 Km. These mountains I believe are the southern hills of the massif central as they point down towards the Pyrennees. It all looks very impressive but is the kind of view that doesn’t come out well in a photograph.

When I got back to the campsite, they had erected a large projector near the gate and were watching the Germany / Ghana match. Germans make up about half of the people on the campsite so I sat there and watched the game, which unlike the ones I’d seen so far was quite entertaining.

Day 23 – on to Avignon

With camp packed up and 45 minutes until the reception re-opened I had some time to explore the area. The ‘Gorge du Gardon’ was not so much a gorge as a big bit of rock that overlooked the river opposite the campsite. Still I can see why it’s a popular spot. While not in the same league or even the same game as the ‘gorge du tarn’ it is warm, sunny and pleasant. And very popular with canoists. You can hire canoes from the river bank in the campsite. This campsite is also far more like a holiday park with a big pool and lots of people on sun loungers. Still it’s just not camping godammit. It’s all a bit too.... easy!


So on to Avignon a mere 20 Km down the road. Avignon is a beautiful medieval walled city, and unlike any British town or city I’ve seen, the wall is entirely intact (I guess France wasn’t always fighting wars with aggressive neighbours). The Rhone river runs alongside and on a large island in the middle of the river are 3 campsites. You can easily walk into town in 15 minutes. There is a gateway in the wall just the other side of the bridge.

I’ve never been here before but looking at the walls and turrets of the city I have a spooky feeling of déjà vu. Literally translated from French meaning ‘already seen’. I have travelled in many places and probably seen something similar. The walls to old Cairo maybe?


I drove into town following signs for ‘centre ville’ like always. And like always I end up in the very narrow cobbled streets trying to find the office du tourism. Unlike other towns Avignon has nowhere to park. I followed the only route I could through the walled town looking for the first place I could ditch the car and proceed on foot. Left here, right there... can’t go down there because no entry sign, one way bit here, so must turn right, and before I knew it I was driving out of another gate in the wall. Like a huge oesophagus without a stomach, the city swallowed me up and spat me straight out again like a merde.

Eventually I found the campsite on the island in the river. I do not like it though. It is packed. There is little choice about which plot you have and none have access to the river. The ground is baked so hard I had trouble banging my pegs in with a hammer. I do not need to peg down the canvas at the back as I have a heavy foldable iron frame that keeps it in place. However with the winds still very high I feel better pegging it down as well. At least there is some shade offered by some trees.

The half bridge with the snow capped Mt Ventoux in the background

Later that afternoon I took I walk into town. I took my laptop with me in order to try and get a signal to update the blog. However it seems I cannot get access anywhere. I can get data reception on my UK phone (it is very expensive though to use its data facilities abroad). Now on my French dongle I have pre-paid 78 euros for 2 lots of 15 hours of internet time. I was probably half way through the first lot and hadn’t activated the second lot yet (You can do this by calling a number and typing in a code which I have printed on some paper). Once activated you have 30 days to use your time. I hadn’t finished using the first lot yet. The last time it informed me my time was up and I recharged it. This time it just stopped working. Why?

Day 22 – The rest of the Tarn gorge

Early the next morning I decided to move on. I had been two days off grid and from the place I was in I couldn’t reach their electric supply. My leisure battery was completely depleted and struggling to keep the fridge on, the lights and laptop had been on half the night. So I had to move the camper anyway and once it was packed all packed up I was looking forward to seeing the rest of the gorge. All in all I was very happy with the performance of the batteries. I could have stayed another night but I am not working at the moment which means unless I’m mobile, I get very bored just sat around. I figured Mirella and her Dad probably have plans for their last day on holiday together, they have a car so can leave their caravan and drive around.

Boom!

I spent the morning over in the snack area talking to her Dad and studying the map. Trying to plot my next move. While we were sat there, there was this ear splitting crack directly above us which then disintegrated into a rolling rumbling sound. Just like thunder when its right above you. But the sky was clear blue? Then we saw the fighter jet shoot from out of a cloud just a few hundred feet above us. It was a sonic boom! Created when a pressure wave on the front of the jet is pierced by the nose as it travels above 750 mph ie, the speed at which sound travels through air. You probably have to be a man to fully appreciate how cool this is. And illegal too, over populated areas I believe!


While I was packing up the camper Mirella came over with her daughter. “Are you leaving?” she said. Was there a note of disappointment here? Oh well... too late now. I asked her how old she is. 23. Probably just as well I’m leaving really. To make matters worse Francious and Andreas appeared to be planning some kind of mini music festival / party for the solstice tonight. I swapped email addresses with Mirella (and gave her my blog address, so she will probably soon know how old I am :-). I said goodbye to everyone, but where was Francious? “In town buying some things for tonight” said Andreas. Oh dear, now I left like I was sneaking off! Well I will probably be back this way again in a few weeks so I promised to pop in again.

The drive through the rest of the gorge was just... well... only nature has the ability to stupefy me in quite this way. It was a good day too. And I wasn’t suffering from VIND this time.



When I drove out of the gorge at the other end it suddenly started feeling very Mediterranean like. The rocky hills gave way to a rolling landscape covered in Vineyards. The sun was very warm and the ground dry and dusty.

Village of Florac – Despite lovely parts like these has an otherwise desolate, feeling to it

I stopped in a town called Ales and followed the signs to centre ville. I did end up right in the narrow one way cobbled streets that seem to characterise the centre of many French towns. Everyone was sat outside cafes sipping wine while I tried to navigate my stinky vehicle amongst them. Also right in the centre was an ancient temple built of stone... a mosque I believe. The African population seems to be more evident down here.

I couldn’t find a campsite here. I’m sure there’s loads but without the DVD guide on the laptop I could find one, also it’s now 5pm so the office du tourism has just closed. So I got back to the road and carried on.

Very soon I’ll be at the Mediterranean coast. I was heading for Avignon (slightly inland) and would be there in about 40 minutes. However I didn’t want to be looking around for a campsite in a busy town at the end of the day. On route I passed a sign saying ‘Gorge du Gardon camping next right 4Km’. Ideal! I didn’t realise there was another gorge nearby. Anyway a nice out of the way campsite in amongst the vineyards! I’ll stop there for the night and drive into Avignon in the morning.

The South of France

The sea is just over there somewhere

When I arrived at the campsite I had a shock. It is packed. There are people everywhere. On deck chairs blocking the little roads that lead to the tent / motor home plots. This is most bizarre and not what I’m used to. The best campsites so far have had little more than a handful of guests. Less than 10% utilisation seems about average. This place is big and about 80% full. I asked the girl on the reception why this place was so full when you go an hour down the road (to a much more beautiful place) and there is no-one. Because this is the ‘SOUTH of France’ she looked at me like I was stupid. Now there is a distinction here which I can’t quite fathom. The Tarn gorge is also very much in the southern end of France, but it’s not considered ‘the south’. Now France has ‘regions’ and ‘departments’ but none of these are called ‘the south of france’, they have names like ‘Provence’, ‘Languedoc’ etc. So what constitutes ‘the south of France’? I suspect it’s only those southern ‘regions’ which border with the med. But if you own a campsite just 5 metres on the wrong side of the border, you won’t have any customers it seems. Apparently we are 97% genetically the same as sheep. Now sadly, that I can believe!


So I setup camp. Made a really great sausage curry...... what?. Recharged my batteries, both internal and external. And went to bed. Tomorrow I will write up the last couple days. Before continuing to Avignon.

Day 21 – In the Tarn gorge – Le Rozier

It was very cold when I woke up this morning, 10 degrees. The wind had picked up considerably and any warm air that is created inside the tent is soon sucked out by the wind through the numerous vents and holes. The other thing is inside a house you something called ‘thermal mass’ which is the slow heating up and releasing of heat in the bricks. Because of its thermal mass the temperature inside a house doesn’t vary as much as the temperature outside even if you don’t put the heating on. With a tent or my camper there is really no thermal mass. The only heat there is, is the heat in the air created by your body, the cooking or the fire. If it’s windy that heat is easily lost. I should have put the fire on. Fully loaded it will stay hot all night. The good news is despite the really heavy winds the camper is solid. It’s gonna get stronger tonight though apparently.

The view of the mountain opposite the campsite

I’ve decided to stay at least one extra night here. I would like to get to know Francious and her boyfriend Andreas a little better.

The bugs

Camping in a tent which is open to the ground at the back is not for the bug-shy. Back at the last campsite I was sharing with two large cockroaches. They were quite friendly ones. A long skinny black one and a tiny round beige coloured one. I explained to them that I was happy for them to use the back bit but not to come into the bedroom... and not to walk on the plates and stuff. ‘Oui dacours!’, their little tentacles nodded in agreement.

Yesterday I found two dancing bugs. One on each light, one upstairs and one downstairs. They were fully dancing around the same spot on the light. I think they wanted me to put the stereo on. They are le punk rock bugs!

What the ...!

There are loads of earwigs, daddy long legs, two ‘siamese’ bugs that seemed to be joined in the middle and the other day I saw something, I don’t know what it was, but it was huge – It looked like a very large honey bee but over 2 inches long and fat, well over half an inch wide. It had tiny wings but made a very loud buzzing noise. I think it might have been a drone sent by the aliens to report on the unusual camper technology. Thankfully this one didn’t want to come inside. It probably had x-ray vision and didn’t need to come inside.

However apart from twice being bitten by something in the grass while I’ve been sitting there barefoot, me and the bugs seem to be getting on great.

Le-Rozier village – just 2 minutes walk up the road

Today I walked into the tiny village of ‘Le Rozier’ and took my laptop with me in order to check my mail and update the blog. Reception in the valley is very poor. It also means I can replenish my supplies at the little spar shop around the corner. I sat in a cafe drinking coffee and after ages managed to get a single day uploaded. After that I gave up and went to look for bread and wine.

When I got back to camp Francious was talking to her Swiss friend Mirella. Mirella was even more beautiful than her name suggests. Definitely worth staying another night I thought. Mirella was there with her father and her very cute 2 year old daughter. Her father was a friend of Andreas’s. I believe they used to share a house together. I fetched my wine and distributed it amongst whoever was present.

Biscuit packet extraordinaire

Now it says 12 biscuits on the packet. Indeed there are 12 biscuits inside so I am not complaining, but 4 goes into 12 exactly 3 times right? So why not make the tray and the box exactly the height of 3 biscuits and save on the packaging? Now I know what you’re thinking and I checked the box, they were made in St. Etiene, not the Auvergne!

I discovered that this campsite as well as being the most beautiful, cheapest and by far the friendliest, Francious and Andreas also allow the guests free use of their Wifi. The trouble is over by the river where my camper was the signal was very week, so I took the laptop over to the little snack area they had made near the entrance. They have a little snack van there too offering everything from croque monsuir to grilled trout. Then of course it’s a race to get my pages and pictures uploaded before my laptop battery died, which was already well depleted from this morning’s use in the cafe, at the same time as talking to everyone. I’m also off grid and so cannot charge my batteries without running the car engine!

Francious and Andreas bought this incredible place in the middle of the gorge for just 150,000 euros. They got it cheap on account of the fact that the river floods each winter. The campsite is closed in the winter, but then my mind went into engineer mode. In Holland they make houses that float for when the sea comes in. They can’t float away because they are anchored to the ground by large posts. They simply float up and down the posts. When the water goes, you re-open the site, with no damage done. I suggested this to Andreas and Francious but I think they are short of the funds to implement such an idea.

That night I sat around with Francious, Andreas, Mirella and Mirellas father; Chock. Dinking wine and watching the football on a laptop the rigged up outside. A Dutch couple were also there who had bought a house in the next valley. At 9.30, well after it got dark in the valley the Dutch lady started shouting, “come look, come look at this... quickly”. We all ran over. The sun which had disappeared almost 2 hours ago was illuminating the top of the mountain behind us. It was literally glowing in the dark. Apparently it only happens 3 days a year around the solstice.

I seem to be getting on really well with Mirella and her father. She is very sweet. Very young though I think. Without asking I was trying to figure it out. Did high school and college, went to Mexico, got pregnant, now daughter is two... hmmm I figured 24? Now most people think I’m much younger than I actually am. I put my youthful looks down to my diet (yep, sausage is good for you) and lack of stress. I have a policy of not tolerating stress for prolonged periods, I believe its not healthy. She probably has no idea I’m 42 – nearer to her Dads age than hers for sure. They are leaving day after tomorrow so this probably won’t go anywhere anyway. She put her daughter to bed but then didn’t emerge herself. Most people seemed to be drifting off so I went back to the camper and lit the fire. I didn’t want to be cold tonight.

All that afternoon and that night the camper was exposed to the full force of the 'Mistral' – the name they give the wind that blows south down to the Mediterranean. The camper was magnificent! It flapped around a bit but the aluminium structure held solid. The fire kept me a toasty 20 degrees inside till early next morning. Mirella, you don’t know what you’re missing!! ;-) I got the munchies too about 11pm so I heated up my dinner from earlier on the top of the log burner which I can alo use as a hot plate. In fact this is the first time I have used it like this and it worked well.

Day 20 – through the Tarn gorge

This morning I woke up with a severe case of Vodka Induced Neural Dysfunction (VIND). I had a big lie in. The wind was picking up big time and I was worried my laundry would be all over the campsite so eventually I got up and rescued it. Everything I did this morning seemed to involve pain, including striking myself across the bridge of the nose with a plug.


Today I decided to move on. I had to wait for my laundry to dry but by 1.30 I was on the road again. I left my blog address with the English guys and promised to mention them. I headed though the Tarn gorge. Now I know I keep saying that this is the best scenery yet. Well this time I won’t say it, I’ll let the pictures do the talking.





I took a leisurely drive through the valley ending up in a delightful little campsite owned by a Landrover loving Swiss couple. They were about my age and decided to put everything they had into buying this little piece of paradise next to the river in the Tarn gorge. Wow, just like I wanna do, I thought. As if to complete the coincidence they were both wearing oversized and very warm looking lumberjack shirts. Wow! Just like me, I thought. They proudly displayed a sign saying ‘We speak English and German!’. Their campsite was the cheapest yet, at only 6.30 euro without electric. I had 4 days of battery charging so I decided to go off grid. Francois explained to me ‘we don’t do it for the money’. Wow, I thought again.

So it’s now 8.45pm and getting dark. I just ate the last of the spag bol and updated the blog for the last 2 days. Sean has just texted me to say gale force winds in my area culminating in 60 mph gusts tomorrow night. Already the rain is started to come down heavy. I pegged down the canvas and deployed the windflap. I might even put the fire on.

My own personal steps to the river

Day 19 – Millau

The bikers

The bikers guys were great fun last night. Larry and Malcolm. When Larry said biking it across Europe I thought we were talking Harleys or something. When Malcolm told me they brought their bikes on the plane it clicked!! Malcolm’s dad is English and has a boat moored on the hamble. Small world! So their story is that they are both football nuts in a country where the only the sport anyone else is interested in is ice skating in padded gear with sticks. Or-key.. hokey.. something like that. So they come to Europe to find atmosphere during the world cup. Trouble is they picked the wrong country. See the whole of France think that their manager is a bit of a nob. On account of the fact that... well.. he is! Even his team thinks so, so France has given up even before the tournament starts. The only animated people in the pub that night was us three. Most of the French were outside smoking. And judging by the look on the managers face, I think that’s what he’d rather be doing too. France eventually lost 2-0 (to Mexico).

So they were biking it to Germany this morning is search of atmosphere and were planning to be in Amsterdam for the final. I was in Amsterdam for the final in 98 when France won and there was no shortage of atmosphere then.

Smoking

On the subject of smoking, how on earth did they manage to ban smoking in public places in a country where literally everyone smokes? You simply aren’t chique unless you have a fag in your gob. Like many bars this one has a huge cigarette counter which seems to have a permanent queue of people. Looking at the long line of pre-pubescent girls buying fags without id I turned to Malcolm and said ‘How old do you have to be to buy cigarettes? He did a quick scan of the queue and said ‘About 7 I reckon!’. He wasn’t far wrong. At one point the loony lady popped in to buy some. I realised she is actually about the same age as me, I think the clothes she was wearing before made her look older.

What to do with bad sausage

Now I’ve noticed that not all sausage is as tasty as other sausage... and when the sniggering stops, I’ll continue..... ...... ....................... Ok. So the best thing to do with bad sausage is to fry it and it takes just like bacon! Goes great with fried eggs.

It’s a real pain that everything closes between 12 and 2. By the time I’ve got up, got showered, had breakfast, washed the dishes and walked into town it’s about 12.30. So I have an hour and a half wait before I can do whatever business I need to do. Today my business was replacing my squeaky boots and visiting the estate agents. I really didn’t want to spend an hour in a bar drinking beer so I went to Rose and Gilberts ‘restaurant, creperie, glacier salon’ and ordered a chef’s salad which arrived quickly... along with a nice cold beer. They had a sign out front saying ‘We speak English’. Of course the sign should more accurately say “We are happy to speak English”. They were lovely people that seemed genuinely interested in my reasons for wanting to move to France.

Salad me up Rose

Other than the usual conversational politeness and Rose aside, I’m finding it hard to really get a good conversation going and it’s really frustrating me. Obviously it’s my lack of understanding of the French language and some people’s unwillingness to drop into English. People quickly tire of my French conversational capacity... ‘Where is the sun today?’, ‘What is your name?’, ‘Do you like sausage?’, ‘I like sausage’. It only gets you so far. Maybe I should invite the loony lady out on a date. She wouldn’t care what I talked about.

It’s actually surprising how many words are the same in French and English. If you don’t know a French word it mostly works out to use the English word using French pronunciation rules. These are;

Speak with an exaggerated French accent

Dont pronounce the last constanant

Dont pronounce H’s

Probably dont pronounce some letters in the middle too!

Words ending in ‘ant’ (eg. Important) are pronounced like a ‘ung’

Words ending in ‘ary’ (eg. Necessary) are pronounced ‘aire’

For sure you will feel like a berk, making up French words, but a lot of the time you will get it correct.

I bought some brown boots from a lady who had a shop in the market square. She was smoking in the shop and the atmosphere was so think you could cut it with scissors. All of her boots and shoes had the same browny colour.

Back at camp, as I was doing dinner a group people were foraging in my area for bits of wood for a BBQ. They were speaking English so I went over for a chin wag. They were from Somerset and Berkshire, Glocester. In fact the somerset guys were just down the road from my Dad. They kindly invited me over to join in their BBQ. I said I was going into town to watch the match in the bar, but when they said they had an HD satellite tellybox I jumped at the opportunity. Bring your Polish girlfriend they said! Is the Southampton Polish community really that infamous?

I took a bottle of vodka with me to their camp and announced ‘I have a Russian friend? Will she do?’. Dave and I demolished the Vodka by the end of the match... It helped ease the pain (Algeria 0 – 0!). Their camp consisted of two large motor homes and a car with a caravan. It was all very luxurious and it housed three couples and a funny dog called Charlie.

After the match I walked back home very drunk and stood on the handle of my frying pan, breaking it in two. Oh no! Disaster! I know it may sound trivial but to the non reasoned camper, as any Bear Grylls type character will tell you, when your in the wild (or even a nice comfortable campsite with hot showers) you soon learn to appreciate the true value of things. For instance;

String / rope – highly prised

Matches – again potential life savers

Cooking utensils – very valuable – especially camping ones that pack up into tiny little spaces

Expensive jewellery – worthless

Ingots of gold – couldn’t give them away



As if to illustrate my point, after leaving the other guys camp and before sanding on my pan handle I stopped by the laundry machine which was supposed to be drying my clothes. I already put them on once (at the cost of 4 euro) and they came out soaking! So while the match was on I put them in again, and again they came out not a single bit dryer then when they went in! So with half a bottle of vodka lubricating and limbs I fashioned a washing line out of some emergency rope I had.

Incidentally whilst talking to the English guys I learned of the terrible tragedy that happened not so far away in Provence. The rain has been so bad that many small streams burst their banks and 25 people lost their lives with another 20 odd unaccounted for! I’m usually the first to know about stuff like this but without TV I haven’t been keeping up to date.

Day 18 – Millau

Today was a good day but it started off bad. I got some bad news from the agency back home which I don’t really want to talk about just yet. The ducks were trying to wake me up early so I’d give them some bread.

I had a shower early and walked into town then realised I had left my money and cards back at camp and had to walk all the way back again. So walk all the way back I did. Still it gave me the chance to change my squeaky boots for my sandals for today is a scorcher! Walking back into town I passed a bar with some people sat outside for the third time only this time they didn’t hear me coming! Ahah! That surprised ya! I walked passed all stealth like. “Bonjour ...” they said, I didn’t catch the second word but I’m sure it was “again”. They were all smiling.

Shortly after passing the bar I walked past the same loony woman from yesterday. She was deeply engrossed in conversation with herself. She was smiling too and didn’t notice me. Good for you I thought. Sometimes it’s better just to talk to yourself.

Today was a business day. I had to get some things sorted including my letter to my accountant and a form posted to the French internet company. I stopped at bar for a coffee and to ask the waitress if she knew where the post office was.

While sitting there I reflected on the fact that the whole of France seems to pulse to a rhythm which I am unaware of. Everyone seems to eat at the same time. Drink coffee at the same time, go to the disco at the same time. I think this clock is embedded in French genes and without an artificial clock the rest of us will not know when coffee time has ended. It seemed to end just after I sat down as the whole cafe then emptied. I know what you’re thinking, well I just had a shower ok?!!

I found the post office right where the waitress marked it on the map. On ‘Avenue Alfred Merle’ and just after ‘Passage de Julie’... :-)... I explained to the lady in the post office that I had one letter to send to England and one within France. I needed two appropriate envelopes but I had already purchased one stamp in the Auvergne. I placed my stamp on the counter. She laughed at my stamp and said it was no good but not to worry because the envelope was pre-paid.... provided I pay for it! I wanted to know what was wrong with my stamp but she didn’t speak English and things were getting complicated. Maybe it was a special Auvergne stamp, only for use within the village! I paid 69c for that. She suggested I use it for a postcard. Whatever address I wrote on it, it would probably just go back to Chaudes Aiges where the mountain people would laugh at me. I took my envelopes and retreated to a bar to complete my paperwork over a petit bierre.


Oh that reminds me. The Duracell batteries I also purchased in the same village just 3 days ago just died. I reckon they’ve been taking them out of the packaging and using them!

In this bar I noticed a sexy looking girl over the other side by the pool table with a group of guys, all vying for her attention. Every now and again she would look over. I smiled. She didn’t smile back but looked me up and down in a kind of sultry way. The look said to me, “yes, I’m mildly interested... and if you make an effort like these morons I might let you buy me a drink!”. I wasn’t having that! The next time she looked over I returned a look that said, “yes, you might be sexy, with nice boobs and stuff but there’s more important things... like compassion, kindness and sincerity and you need to make an effort as well, besides I can’t speak French, so there!... and buy your own drink!!’. It was a complicated look to pull off but I think I managed it. She was big on looks but I suspected short on sincerity and such like and I got out of that game a long time ago.


The French are very proud of their language and do not like to speak English even though many can. I can understand this. I feel it is quite arrogant for English speakers to expect not to have to bother learning the basics. Remember France like England has traditionally been a very great and powerful nation with all the pride that comes with it. If you make an effort however it’s quite rewarding seeing the delight on their faces especially when they see how hard you try. People will often then be quite happy to talk in English once they appreciate your effort. I’m sure we would be the same if the rest of the world spoke French instead of English. In this bar I asked ‘If I come in tomorrow night can I watch the England game on the telly at 7.30?’. ‘Of course’ they said. The bar staff were all wearing blue football strips.

A Canadian biker was sat behind me and asked where I was from. ‘Angleterre’ I replied. He was watching the football – supporting Argentina against South Korea (they won 3-1). He has been living in Argentina for the last 3 years so it was a big game for him. He invited me back to the bar tonight. Him and his buddy are leaving for Germany tomorrow. They’ve been holed up here waiting for the bad weather to pass. It was nice of him to offer and it would be good to have proper conversation in English. So that’s my plans for tonight sorted.

The green in the water indicates a high Iron content from the rocks it filtered through.

When I got back I cooked another herby spag boll. I think I’m addicted. I’m wondering what those Morrocans might have put in Seans special spice mix! The sun is out, stereo on high. Then I caught sight of the elderly Dutch couple opposite frowning at me. I got carried away in another punk rock herb chopping frenzy didn’t I? I put my hands up as if to say sorry. There was a piece of spaghetti hanging out of my mouth, the guy on the stereo was screaming ‘mother f***er!!!’ I turned it down. Then wiped the tomoto sauce from my chin. And my T-shirt. And my jeans. I didn’t want my elderly neighbours to think I was an English yob. I haven't really spoken to them other than the odd 'hello' but I have decided they are good because despite being old, they have a tent and have been here a few days. What I mean is they haven't just turned up in their house-sized motorhome, looked out the window, and driven off again in the morning... like some people do. They are more at one with nature.

So cooking done and consumed, blog done, I’m gonna get changed and go back to the bar.