22/2003 - Daily Asides
8th April 2004 - back to Normandie
Bonjour tout le monde!
Remember our passing mention of the home-made demountable van at Camping Stuck-in-the-Mud? Well funnily enough, we encountered it (and its occupants) again when we were laundering the muddy after-effects of our unfortunate incident out of our clothes at our stop-over near Poitiers. They weren't too surprised to find out that we'd been stuck in the field for 3 hours - but were appropriately supportive and sympathetic - and were mightily relieved that they'd got a good bit of solid ground. It turns out they're just negotiating the purchase of some land in the same area with the intention of developing a little Camping - which will be open all year, and have plenty of hardstanding and showers with heating. Don't think they'll have too much trouble woo-ing the punters off Camping Stuck-in-the-Mud!
Anyroadup, off we tootled, cleaner and fresher, after a couple of nights at the village near Poitiers. We'd been making our way up through France this time using mainly the 'D' roads and the smaller 'N' (national) roads, all of which are truly excellent. France is just fantastic for roads, with plenty of rest areas and minimal traffic away from the bigger city by-passes. We were hugely enjoying the treat of continually coming across beautiful little villages and towns, rolling through ever-changing landscape and appreciating the varied local architecture in different regions.
Lots of you are very familiar with France, we know, so you'll understand what we're talking about. Dave hasn't travelled in France as much as Jeni has (in the better-spent days of her mis-spent yoof, mainly) and he was seeing it in a completely different light. In addition, by now there was in a considerable amount of sunlight, happily, so that made a difference! In Lot-et-Garonne, for instance, we much enjoyed the architecturally elaborate, multi-storey pigeon-houses and dove-cotes (pigonniers), sometimes almost as grand as the houses and chateau-ettes by which they were situated. There was one little rest-up-and-enjoy-the-view-moment when Dave spotted a hedgehog dicing with death, setting out to cross a road. Happily it decided against such foolishness, changed its mind and scuttled back to safety, ending up near one of these fancy pigeonniers gazing up as if in awe ...
We were also, of course, enjoying our daily baguettes, as only French bakeries can do truly properly; being reunited with the huge variety of French cheeses (why do we always end up talking about food?!) and the tremendously courteous ways of French people. It's definitely neater and more manicured than Spain (which can be both a plus and a minus), and of course, it's the best place in the world (surely?) for Camping Car-istes with so many aires de services having facilities for topping up water, jettisoning waste and, if we'd chosen to, stopping overnight. Yes, lots to charm a Rollingfruitbat in France. We decided that the best way to sum it up is that we love France - but we're 'in love' with Spain. Does that make sense?!
Where were we? Actually, while we're on the asides, we'll just do another quick one related to that very question before we desperately try to find the answer. As you gathered, we have been moving on fairly briskly for the past week or two, only staying a night or a couple in one place, and we've got back into that strange feeling we had when we originally got the Lorry, and particularly when we first left England last year. It's that momentary feeling of utter disorientation prior to pulling up the blinds in the mornings.
Some of you will understand that feeling ... !
So at this juncture we were heading across the Loire (both the region and the river) up into Normandy in search of the home of a couple of other odd-ball Camping Car-istes we'd met down in Spain a few weeks previously. Perhaps rashly, Steve and Sheila had extended a cordial invitation to us to drop in on the way back to YUK and park up at their house in the tranquil Normandy countryside, which at this time was carpeted with primroses and other spring wildflowers. We decided this was far too good an opportunity to miss, so we managed to track them down, despite their subsequent attempts to put on silly voices and say 'Oh no, I'm afraid they've moved rather suddenly' when we phoned. Actually, mock-insults aside, they hospitably opened the gate for us literally and metaphorically, having come to find us at a nearby village, where we'd stopped and rung for directions at a handy branch of Tracteurs-Sont-Nous.
We slewed the Lorry across the front of their house, plugged into their electrics and made ourselves at home for the next few days. Daisy the dog seemed pleased to see us again - indeed she gave us much more attention than she had when we were neighbours at Camping Orgiva. There, she was rather busy on observation duty all the time, keeping an eye on the feral cats which seemed to like skulking around under VeeJay. We had a great few days with Steve and Sheila - although Steve was committed to working for part of the time we were there (gosh! Yes, some people do still do it - we'd almost forgotten! - whoops, sorry, no barrage of hate mail there please, it was just a joke!), they still took us out and about in the area. We were in the vicinity of villages such as Percy, Tessy-sur-Vire, Domjean, Torigni and the slighty larger Villedieu-les-Poeles (literally Town of God of the Frying Pans!), a really pretty place famed for its copper and pewter production. It is one of only a dozen or so places in Europe that still has a working bell-foundry. Villedieu also offered us the delights of market day while we were there, which enabled Dave to add to his range of footwear with a fine pair of Breton clogs, his argument for this burst of retail therapy being that they would be ideal for easily slipping on and off when entering and leaving the Lorry. Steve's purchase from the same market was entirely selfless, as he presented us with a token of friendship - a giant blow-up parrot that he insisted that Dave carry round from that point on!
We did, it's true, get a little concerned during our stay when Steve and Sheila kept taking us to outrageously pretty small towns and villages and showing us what delightful little Campings they had, usually tiny municipal sites located by a river or just tucked picturesquely in the heart of the community. Eventually we had to check if this was a hint that we'd already outstayed our welcome, but no, they assured us, it was just showing us typical, pleasant little French Campings that were incredibly cheap and were within easy walking distance of villages or towns. And as far as we could see, they didn't have their fingers crossed behind their backs!!
Our Personal Tour Guides also, Jeni has to confess, took us to Heaven and back in the guise of a trip to a Camping Car 'n' accessories dealer. (And don't forget this is in France, the Nirvana of Camping Cars!) We needed one or two things (since you ask, boring-ish items like toilet chemical, and, less boringly, insulated 'silver screens' for inside the windscreen at night - as we'd not managed to get the right size ones in YUK when we were back, and they were oodles cheaper in France anyway). Naturally we all took the opportunity to have a gratuitous nose around the huge number of Camping Cars on the forecourt (and we Fruitbats still concluded that VeeJay's our Top Totty when it comes to Lorries - despite her lack of a lounging sofa and her big end swing!). Okay, we recognise such a shopping trip wouldn't have universal appeal, but we four afficionados were much excited by it. Sad.
The other Sad trait we discovered in common was a penchant for Rummikub, our other evening board-game vice. We discovered that Steve and Sheila were fiendish Rummikubbers, so naturally we had to spend a couple of evenings slogging it out. So fiercely were the contests fought that we never got round to Boggling with them!
Dave kept offering his services round the homestead (steady on now!) - were Sheila and Steve sure he couldn't help out with anything while we were there? With Steve busy on other work, perhaps Dave could do one or two jobs Steve didn't have time for at the moment? Dave just got two chances. Firstly Sheila had a fig tree in a big pot that needed transplanting to an even larger one. An initial assessment by another friend of theirs who popped round, was that either it was a two-or-three person job or that he'd bring his earth-mover round and get it repotted with that. So Sheila and Jeni were sitting in the sun having a cuppa and a chat one afternoon, when they suddenly realised Dave hadn't had his tea and had been missing for a while. Turning round, they were alarmed to see the fig-tree advancing towards them - and yes, Go-It-Alone Lupton was somewhere underneath the huge rootball, heading unsteadily for Destination Half Barrel, just by the little brick shed that housed the Thunderbox.
Sheila and Jeni loaned what strength and strategic thinking they could, and as luck would have it Steve arrived home from work just as we were at the crucial stage of heaving the beast into its barrel. So it was a bit of team work after all - though Jeni's convinced that Dave would have managed it on his own somehow (remember moving that scaffolding single-handed?!). Possibly it would have involved a harness fashioned from bungees and a bit of swinging from the eaves of the barn, but he'd have done it one way or another!
The second 'helping out' opportunity arose when Steve and Sheila's elderly neighbour from the farm opposite, bustled into the garden looking for 'her' Steve (upon whom she dotes). The 'mini-tracteur' wasn't working after its winter break and it was needed for grass cutting - Steve would know how to fix it, because Steve is marvellous and can do anything. Sheila explained that he was away at work, but as luck would have it, we had another electrician on the premises. He'd come and have a look at it for her. Off we all set, Sheila and Jeni as translaters.
Introductions all round to Monsieur when we arrive on their premises and we all start clucking round the mini-tracteur, the ride-on mower, which is showing no signs of life at all. Madame says it was out in February and was fine then, although judging by the state of the connections on the battery it might not have been February this year. Dave rushes back to the Lorry for his trusty tool-box and returns with same bungeed to the back of Isadora, Jeni's tricycle, much to Monsieur et Madame's amusement! Pause while we all discuss the merits of tricycle over bicycle, where Isadora was purchased and other intimate details.
After some time of tinkering with the mini-tracteur, we reckon that Dave et Monsieur can probably communicate in sign language, so leave them to it, while Jeni, Sheila et Madame all retire to the kitchen to get the coffee on the go. Eventually the guys come indoors, Dave having diagnosed that the mini-tracteur needs a new spark plug (we resorted to the dictionary for that one!) and probably a good overhaul. It turns out that the engineer for the grand-tracteur is coming tomorrow anyway, so he can have a look at it - we're convinced that this whole escapade was a bit of a ploy for Madame to check out the visitors in the big Camping Car! They are, apparently, absolute treasures of neighbours - the best - but also like to know what's going on!
Even in our short time with them, we wanted to adopt them. Monsieur, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, is the quieter of the duo; Madame, tiny in stature, huge in personality (and welly-boots to match the size of said personality). Sheila, who has lived in France for over 10 years, naturally speaks good French, but Madame - in a quite delicious reversal from the usual situation of Brits to 'foreigners' - still, after a long time of them being neighbours, adopts the principle of 'speak loud, fairly slow and exaggerate your lip movements' for communication with any Brit. We still had dictionary, encyclopaedia and recipe book out at various points when we got into linguistically complex areas. Our hilarious coffee-pot discussions mainly centred around food (no?!), as we were trying to explain Yorkshire pudding to them - not easy! Madame is decidedly un-French in her eating preferences and remarkably doesn't like garlic, snails, cheese, sauces and a host of other staples. Poor Monsieur, who has to watch what he eats now because of heart problems, was drooling as we leafed through a cookery book, with Madame expressing her disgust in no uncertain terms at many of the recipes. Jeni somehow turned into the scary school-marm and gave Monsieur three English words to learn - spark-plug, swordfish and screwdriver - promising to learn the French herself but threatening to come back the next day and test him on his homework! He looked genuinely alarmed.
Come to think of it, we never did hear what the tractor engineer had to say about the health of the mini-tracteur, though we noticed the front lawn had been cut by the next evening, so all was evidently well in the end.
By the way - another shameless advert here - if anyone fancies a break in lovely Normandy, Steve and Sheila have a great little holiday cottage, Wren Cottage, close to where they live. It's available from June. You can get details on the French Connections.co.uk website: the full link is http://www.frenchconnections.co.uk/accom/5306.cfm.
So that was it, we really had to head off to Calais for our journey back to Dover. Blow-up parrot bobbing at the side window, we waved our fond farewells - and promptly took the wrong turning in the village! Not serious, though and the slight detour, as ever, revealed fresh delights before we picked up the right road and we headed north-east towards Calais. The day's journeying did have to include, naturellement, a last food shopping flurry - here we were in Normandy, after all, and how could we possibly not stock up on a few bottles of cider and cheese (the blood and guts sausages, black and white puddings etc. we could maybe overlook, we were in agreement). It would be criminal, Jeni argued, to pass within a few kilometres of Camembert and Livarot without taking back a few samples. The deal was that if Jeni promised not to take us on detours via the many cheese museums, exhibitions etc., she could have a trolley dash round a supermarché.
Later, as Dave removed the stinking cheeses from the fridge and, fully masked and gowned, banished them to the Lorry's outer locker, he somewhat regretted having let Jeni loose on her own in Carrefour. 'What if we get stopped at by Customs tomorrow?' he asked rhetorically, panic in his voice. 'They'll think we're carrying the wherewithal to conduct biological warfare!' It's true, Jeni agreed, that even triple wrapped, stowed in a plastic box and at fridge temperature the cheeses were somewhat niffier than was suitable for the confines of the van, but she was looking forward to sampling them - perhaps with the Patriarch, sitting on a bench in the fresh air on Eastbourne prom!
We over-nighted in a village just outside Calais, so we'd not have far to travel the next morning to get to the ferry. And there we were, turning up unnaturally early for our booked ferry, so they put us on an earlier crossing. We had just one minor Incident on the boat when we got into the lift to go up from the vehicle deck. The doors closed, we pressed a button (though it was remarkably unclear which to press for the main passenger decks). No movement. Press again. Same. Uh-oh. Press open door button. Nothing. Stab vigorously at open door button. Still nothing happens. Just as Dave's claustrophobia is about to kick in, the door shudders open and a French crewman looks at us, startled. 'No public, no public!' he cries, gesticulating energetically. Ah! So it's the crew 'n' goods lift we've got into after all and it clearly has to be operated with a key in the lock before the buttons will work. We back out, apologising profusely, and go in search of the proper, somewhat smarter, lift. Trust us!
And thus, back over La Manche, heading into the UK for the next part of our nomadic adventures. We'd done lots of motivational talk over the previous few days, reminding each other of all the things we are looking forward to, so's not to get too sad about the things we'll be leaving behind for a few months. We may be back over the water now, folks, but don't think your email in-boxes will get much of a respite. Like the weather folk on the telly-box we have to warn you 'There's more to come!'.
Catch you again soon - many of you in person in the next few weeks we hope.
Love from your ever-gallivanting Fruitbats,
Jeni and Dave
xxx