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”.
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