La Rochelle and the arrival of Pat

On the 12th of May we packed up with excitement in a hurry to reach La Rochelle where we would meet with Graham’s brother Pat. A seasoned European camper he was making his way down to join us for the last ten days of the trip. After a time of concern that we had not directed him to the correct campsite, he finally pulled up looking rock and roll on his scooter bursting with tales of the adventures he had on his journey down.
Once Graham and I had completed our jenkers (mine inside the caravan, Graham’s out) and Pat had pitched his tent (in our Garden), we sat down with a cup of tea and spent the next few hours catching up. Krista and Pat bonded as they compared notes on their recent experiences in French hospitals. Pat paled when we informed him of the probable bill he would soon be receiving as a result. He felt suddenly less pleased about the size of the f…… great needle that had been introduced to the elbow damaged on the banks of the Loire.
There followed a relaxed time in our campsite just outside La Rochelle. We walked along the beach, visited the town centre, caught a little of the hair-raising World Cliff diving championships and kept Pat safe from a group of excitable French girls on a hen-night. While Pat and Graham reminisced about the French camping trip they had taken together ten years ago (‘where does the time go?’), Pat and Annie compared notes on bargains procured. Annie and Graham made a strong challenge with the pushchair and baby back-pack, due to an on-going problem with a wheel and Pat’s unerring devotion to the Meccas of Lidl and Aldi, the former won hands down. He also triumphed in several evening games of Rummicub and Scrabble.
Having persuaded Pat to wean himself temporarily from his camping diet of ‘potato puree and tinned mackerel’, we think he was impressed with the standard of meals produced (mainly by Graham) in our humble galley kitchen. However his experiences of the great LeClerc stir-fry, tuna au poivre, vegetarian shepherd’s pie, tuna pasta, grilled fish and baked potato, were curtailed when due to a gas leak we were left without an oven for the last week of the trip . Whereas Graham and I found ourselves at a loss and slightly hungry, a superior camping experience paid dividends as Pat returned happily to his rations.
After a delayed departure from La Rochelle when Pat’s battery went flat, we made a couple of nights stop at Le Mont St. Michel. Then we moved on to what was to be our last proper destination of Trouville and Deauville. As expected I loved these Normand seaside destinations made famous by their wooden promenades and historic popularity through history with the rich and famous. Deauville is comparable to somewhere like Cannes and has retained its affluent grandeur. But Trouville its idiosyncratic twin with all its highly unusual residences lining the beachfront, is more like Hastings. A former majesty echoes sadly from several dilapidated grand hotels, little populated restaurants and a shabby-looking Olympic lido. You can almost hear the chinks of the champagne glasses and the sound of the band as the ghosts of a past fast-set seem to party on forlornly behind the graffiti-ridden boardings of the town’s decaying casino and ball-room. An unexpected pilgrimage I felt satisfied to stumble across the final residence of Marguerite Duras, one of my favourite authors.

Bordeaux - Graham's Birthday

As we journeyed onwards to Bordeaux we wondered if we were ever to enjoy more than two uninterrupted clear days … We settled in the sunshine in another holiday village type campsite, a surfers’ paradise on the edge of a small and alternative Californian style town called Monchic. The mood on the campsites had suddenly changed, with the onset of summer the average age has dropped to below 40 and Krista is no longer a novelty amongst the scores of other small children and babies. Although it is refreshing to be surrounded by families, we have been struck by the different level of friendliness you receive from younger people. Having grown used to being welcomed by neighbours, we are now adapting to fellow campers who perhaps looking to get away from the stresses and strains of daily life are hesitant to make a link and barely say hello.
A little like a Center-Park, this campsite was superiorly equipped with leisure facilities and amenities. While a most fantastic lap pool was closed for refurbishments, it did have a great tennis court. Graham and I fitted in a couple of games as Krista took her morning nap. Tennis was put off the agenda when on the verge of a rare but fantastic victory against Graham I managed to sprain my ankle badly. Instead we spent the afternoons lounging by the sites aesthetically designed leisure pool, Krista and I playing in the shade, Graham topping up his tan.
We celebrated Graham’s birthday with a stroll into town for a tub of the licorice flavour ice-cream we had discovered and later some toasted gaufres with squirty cream and a candle.

Last few weeks ...

Hitting the Atlantic Coast at Biarritz ready for a leisurely journey towards Calais then home, we were struck by the significant drop in temperature. As has become the theme of the tour we were regaled by more tales of how ‘lovely’ the weather had been here last week and that what we were seeing was unprecedented for this time of year. We did not expect anything different by now, so bravely went back under the seats to unpack our winter clothes and pile on the layers for an outing into the centre of town.
Biarritz has a delightful olde world feel about it and we enjoyed hanging around the entrance to the impressive Hotel Imperial where an Audrey Tatou film we’d recently loved had been made. Sparing a thought for those who had booked up for a week of sunshine and luxury in this grand old seafront hotel, we hurried out of the biting wind back to the sanctuary of our warm, dry caravan just before it started to pour. I was not surprised at this as I had as usual hung a long line of washing. Once again I tried to comfort myself with the thought that rain acts as a natural softener … When it became clear that the wet was once again with us for several days I resigned myself back to the dryers and many more Euros in change.
Even the most pleasant of campsites seem miserable and deserted in the rain. No exception, this one was saved by the fact that it has the best swimming pool yet. 20 metres, indoor and heated I enjoyed having it to myself for the three days we were here. My ever indulgent Graham and Krista watched from the side while I lapped up and down.