Home again

Home again, for a short time anyway.   And so yesterday we gave the van a good clean, with the help of Scott, who very kindly climbed onto the roof to give it a scrub.   Of course, we remembered to put the side mirror in before we started, keeping in mind the £600 we have paid recently for two new side mirrors.   We are trying not to make it a third side mirror, not yet anyway.

And the sun has been out for three days.    I need to write this blog before the weather changes to grey cloud and rain again.   How lovely it is to put out the awning and the umbrellas, and the shade cloth.

The garden is green and overgrown.    Most unusual for this time of year.  I can remember in June 2010, the garden was scorched and we had no lawn to speak off.   

I think the fox did eat our resident mole.  There are no mole hills anywhere.  I am very happy about this.   I know many people will think me uncaring to be happy about losing a piece of wild life, a national treasure, that lovely grey furry animal with large paws and poor eyesight.   The  same poor defenceless animal that makes my garden look like an excavation site.  At least the fox had a good meal.  And foxes are very needy animals.  Mangy and underfed.    

 And the rhubarb has grown more oversized green leaves and huge stalks.   This rhubarb started off as one small piece, which I broke off the rhubarb stump in Emma and Steve's garden.  I then chopped it into even smaller pieces expecting to have to give them a lot of loving care this summer, before harvesting them next summer, if they survived.   But I have already harvested the pieces once, and by the look of the patch I will need to have another chop.    More rhubarb crumble.   What did you do to this rhubarb, Chris, when you planted it in your garden years ago?    Amazing stuff!

 We also have a bumper crop of black currants.    My job this Saturday, will be picking them, and cutting the stalks off.   I no longer cut the fluffy bits off the top, on good advice from my sister, Margaret.    And no one has complained about the jam.   Walter is the resident jam maker, by the way, and he has already bought the sugar, in readiness for a jam making session on Saturday.

 The continuous wet weather, with a few days of hot sunshine, has resulted in a massive flower display.  The purple clematis putting on quite a show.

 The roses look so beautiful, and the perfume is breathtaking.

 These are my neighbours roses by the way, but they are hanging over our side of the fence.   Brilliant colours.

And fingers crossed the good weather will continue for a few more days.   England is a wonderful country to live in, when the weather is perfect and the gardens are looking fantastically beautiful.  

Bullecourt

As it was a beautiful sunny morning, and we had time to spare, we decided to have a quick look around.  

And the poppies were blooming, still as red as before.   And they continued to flower all the way through the Flanders area, and they were still blooming on the side of the streets when we arrived home.   This has certainly been a good year for red poppies.

 And in the fields around Arras, the giant wind mills also bloomed, everywhere and yet more were being built.  A good income for the farmers.

 A lovely peaceful village near Arras.

And our destination, Bullecourt, where there is a memorial dedicated to four Australian Infantry Divisions, who fought there during WWI.

 The church behind the memorial, quite a haunting place, which has seen much bloodshed, I think.

A poster on the town hall, advertising ANZAC DAY.

 We drank coffee, the cheapest ever, at this little cafe called Le Canberra.    Quite bizarre.

I decided to look up the poem, the first line of which I can only remember.   Even then I was not correct as I thought that it was 'In Flanders fields the poppies grow' but in fact it is 'blow'.   But I can remember reciting this poem in primary school during the 1950's, as a lead up to ANZAC Day on the 25th April.   In my imagination I could see the poppies growing amongst the tombstones and was quite affected by the words.

The first verse of the poem, written by a Canadian doctor called John McCrae, goes like this:-
'In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.'

A war that resulted in the slaughter of so many men.   And for what reason?   A complete mess up!   But we will return to the area, a piece of our history.   Lest we Forget.

Camping La Paille Haute

We set off on Sunday morning to drive through Lyon and up through northern France.   As it was Sunday, there were few trucks on the motorway, and also considerably less cars.   A very relaxing drive.

First we drove along the River Rhone, and through Vienne, with its ruined castle on the hill above.   A very picturesque setting.

 And then through Lyon, without the usual bumper to bumper traffic.   What a difference!

 And past the services before Reims, where Walter left his man bag hanging behind the toilet door, when we passed through here three weeks ago.    We decided not to call into the services, in case the experience was repeated, so we drove past very quickly.

By now it was also raining heavily.   And cold.   Welcome back to the miserable weather.  So should we stop at a camping ground, in the cold wet weather, or keep driving until we got to Dunkerque, and then head home.    Decisions, decisions.   But suddenly the weather cleared a little so off we went to the planned stop, La Paille Haute, 12 kms from Arres, and in the centre of many WWI memorial sites.

As soon as we parked the van we decided to come back again in the future, as the countryside is glorious and we have never visited the WWI cemeteries or memorials, and after all they are part of our history.

   

It was a very busy camping ground, but also very green and with farms all around.   And the sun came out too.

Camping Le Daxia

We reluctantly left Camping Manjastre on Saturday morning.   We arose early, packed the caravan up so that it could be put back into storage, went for our last swim, and said our goodbyes, just temporarily of course, because we will be back again in August.

Then we carefully pushed in the left hand mirror of the van before we set out onto the St Tropez road.   Now you might wonder why we pushed in our mirror, as it is crucial for seeing anything that may overtake us.  But we decided that I could keep an eye out of the window on this short stretch of road, rather than lose yet another wing mirror.  Yes this wing mirror had been hit twice by trucks in the 10 days we ventured out onto this road, and in the end we replaced it, £300 worth as it is a very large mirror, plus blinker system.   And we had only had the mirror replaced before we left on the trip, due to other mishaps.   The road, by the way is extremely narrow, and our wing mirror stretches over the middle line of the road.   It is scary to venture too close to the edge of the road, due to a deep ditch running along edge.  And we have seen cars, on a lean, stranded in the ditch.   

Our first 'bouchon', in English that is 'tailback' or 'car queue'.   I like the word 'bouchon', as it sounds so much more dramatic than 'car queue' but unfortunately it still entails a long wait.    In this case the 'bouchon' occurred just after our motorway met up with the motorway from Nice, and just before the tolls.   

 Now this truck and van had a bit of a altercation, due to both wanting to change lanes at the same time.

 And the next services was packed with cars and people, so we did not stop here for lunch.

 But luckily the traffic thinned out again after Aix en Provence and we sped on towards our stop for the night at a lovely campsite, quite a distance from the motorway, but not far from the Rhone River.    Camping Le Daxia, close to St Clair-du-Rhnone.   A CC or Camping Card ACSI campsite (Dutch), which we are a member of, so we get a discount.

 It is a very friendly and attractive site, with mature trees and hedges.   Each site is enclosed by trees or hedges.    And the sun was still shining, although the heat that we experienced in the Cote D'Azur was not there.

And then off the Pizzeria, conveniently just outside the campsite, for cheap and very good pizzas.

Out and about - Cote A'Azur

We made a visit to La Londe, the carefully kept secret of the local people.   A delightful little port with a small beach and lovely restaurants.    The area is never overly busy.    We headed to a favourite restaurant, where Walter and I ordered moules (mussels), which of course were delicious.    Brian ordered lamb chops, French style, which he said were excellent.  Susanne ordered steak, which was also very good.  

The photographs of us at the restaurant made us look like we had all partaken of too much alcohol, with very red faces caused by the red plastic awning.  I can assure you, that it was the reflection of the red plastic, although there are people who may not believe me.  So I have included a view of the harbour instead, with its lovely boats and very blue sky.   

Brian and Susanne posing on Cabasson beach, with Cap de Bregancon in the background.   The French President has a holiday house on this little island, or out crop.    He is not there at present, of course, being too busy saving the country from economic ruin, but the holiday house is certainly worth the fight to become President of France.

And we made a visit to Collobrieres.  But first we drove over the hills, on a very narrow road, which is popular with cyclists practising for the Tour de France, I think.   By the way some of the cyclists ride, I do not think they will ever make a race.   Anyway I managed not to hit a cyclist, which was not an easy task.

Collobrieres is a little French town famous for its chestnut production, which still is a thriving industry here.   A sleepy little town, with men sitting around discussing the local news, as they have always done.

But Collobrieres hit the news this week.   Murder in the town.   Sadly two, highly qualified, policewomen were shot and killed when they went to a house to make an investigation.   The murderer, from what I could glean from the local newspaper, was young and had a police record, with time spent in prison as well as a multitude of crimes already committed.   Toulon was mentioned quite a bit, but also Marseille, which has quite a dodgy reputation.

So the peaceful scenes of a rural small town in the photographs below, have been shattered.  The cafe below, with its lovely coffee and hot chocolate, is a favourite stopping place for cyclists too.

The shady plane trees outside the town hall.   A lovely square.

Colourful washing drying outside one of the houses.

A picturesque and very quiet street.

Brian and Susanne trying out the chestnut (marron) ice cream.   I do not think they were impressed.   It is an acquired taste.

And yet another visit, this time to Bormes les Mimosa.   A delightful hill top town above Le Lavandou.  Our intention, after enjoying the views, and an early cup of coffee, was to go shopping in the little boutiques.   And we did so, and made sure we helped the local economy by purchasing quite a few items.

And luckily we are still here to tell the tale.   Brian, who was crossing a narrow street, which was blocked to traffic, suddenly found himself face to face with a small car hurtling around the corner.   He jumped out of the way, and watched the car weaving about until it hit a group of people a hundred metres away.  Although one lady was knocked over, and went under the car, according to Brian, the driver did not stop, but continued on his way down the street, weaving in and out.    Susanne and I were in a shop, luckily.   The lady was not killed, thankfully, but was seriously injured all the same.  Poor Brian was really shaken.   Normally, this town is very quiet, with safe streets for meandering about, visiting the little shops as you go.   And the accident did not make the papers either.  All very strange.

The bougainvillea's are in full bloom at the moment.   A mass of flowers.   Absolutely spectacular. 

Tomorrow we reluctantly leave Camping Manjastre, and drive back to the United Kingdom, where the weather hopefully will have improved.  

Brian and Susanne have already left, by train, from Toulon station.   They have visited Monaco, Venice (very expensive) and Siena (beautiful), and are currently driving towards Rome.   And then back to New Zealand, via Dubai.       

St Tropez

A visit to the famous town of St Tropez.    Forty minutes drive away, as long as you leave about 8 a.m., otherwise it is bumper to bumper traffic on the very narrow road into St Tropez.    So of course we left early, and managed to get a car park close to the town centre. 

Sixty years ago St Tropez was a little known fishing village, until Bridget Bardot starred in a film there, which put the town on the map for the rich and famous.   And it is certainly a glamorous town, with plenty of opportunities for people to pose on boats, and in cafes and restaurants. 

But there is another side of St Tropez which the visitors do not see, unless they decide to take a stroll in the park up the hill, or go through a doorway into one of the beaches.    The park is covered in dog shit, which our grandchildren acquired on their shoes as soon as we let them out of their buggies.   And the beach smells of urine, so men have obviously used it as a urinal.   Both are not very attractive places.   

But back to the town, which of course is immaculate and well washed down each morning.   Our first view, early in the morning, of the horseshoe shaped harbour, was fairly breathtaking.

And what a toy this boat is too.  No matter how luxurious it looks, the boat will still roll about in the swell.   Not for me.

Two large boats, with people posing on the back.    Two couples on one of them, did not look happy to be there, as they sat and looked bored the whole time we drank our coffee.    Maybe they had had a row, due to too much time on their hands.

Brian and Susanne enjoying their hot chocolate, whilst they viewed the occupants on the boat opposite the cafe.  

Sneakers for sale!    Rows of them, and so many colours.  Cost lots of money of course.

One of the delightful squares.

Another delightful square.

We then drove home along the coast road, with wonderful views of the Mediterranean on one side. No stopping for photographs though.  The road is too twisty.  And we were back to the campsite in time for a leisurely lunch.

Le Lavandou

Le Lavandou is only 10 minutes drive from the campsite, on most days.    However, in the mornings during July and August, when there is bumper to bumper traffic entering and leaving Le Lavandou, it can take half an hour or more.   

Le Lavandou was once a small fishing village, but of course it is now a buzzing tourist town.   However it still retains its charm, and is not too expensive.   The town has also had a massive facelift, with 1970's style buildings spruced up, and a massive landscaping programme being put into place.

We especially love to sit in Cafe Centre (I think it is still called this, we never check) which also has had a spruce up, including more, and new, chairs being installed.    A cafe well placed for watching people walk past, and we do of course, as we drink our coffee and sip our glasses of water, and sometimes a beer or a glass of wine.

 The view of the pedestrianised street outside Cafe Centre.   Not many people around on this afternoon.   They are all having a siesta, I think.

 Le Lavandou beach.    A perfect location, especially in June, before the crowds arrive.

 Yesterday we had lunch at our favourite, but very expensive, fish restaurant on the pier.     We did partake in more than a bottle of water!   Walter ordered Seafood Paella, and I ordered Salade Nicoise, with fresh sardines on top.   Both delicious.

 And this was our view of the harbour.   I love the automated sail on this fishing boat.   Life made easier for the sailors.

 We then ate an ice cream as we watched a group of players demonstrate their very good skills at boules.   Perhaps we need to take up this game instead of bowls.    It looks easy!   A back handed flip with the boule is all that is needed.   Or so it appears from a spectator's point of view.

Camping Manjastre

I have finally caught up with the blogs, and I am now writing about our current location, Cote D'Azur.    Summer has arrived down here, the weather has been getting hotter, and the temperature in the swimming pool has now risen to 22 degrees.

I must admit it was very unpleasant yesterday, as the thunderstorms caused high humidity, but they also cleared the air, and today we are experiencing the usual dry hot weather.

At the moment I am sitting in the shade of the bar area, looking out over the swimming pool and tree clad hills.

Camping Manjastre is a superb camp site, family run, all of whom can speak French, English and Dutch fluently.    Consequently most of the campers are from these countries.   It is set on a hill overlooking a valley, and is accessed from the St Tropez road, just past the turn off, on the road to Le Lavandou.    The road after the campsite is extremely twisty as it rises up to the Col before heading down towards La Mole and St Tropez.

We have our caravan stored here, at a very reasonable price, and try to come down at least twice a year.     The sites are large, set into the hillside, and surrounded by trees, so rarely do you have another camper too close to you.   The surrounding area is mostly a national park so there are plenty of walks to undertake, in the cooler weather of course.   

The view of the swimming pool, from the terrace.   When you lie on your back on the water, you look out on tree clad hills on three sides.   Perfect location.   The water is always crystal clear.

 Out motor home on one of the sites, with our rental car beside it.

 Drinks on the grass outside our caravan.    The sun is still shining and it is still light.   And we are enjoying it all.   Perfect.

 The view down through the camp sites to the valley below.

We love coming to Camping Manjastre, and so do our guests.    A beautiful location, plus a friendly and well run camping site, makes for a perfect camping experience.

Millau Viaduct

After driving all day, we finally arrived at the tolls for the Millau Viaduct, but as it was late in the afternoon we knew we needed to find a camping ground.    So we took the road before the tolls, in order to reach the town of Millau.

Millau is a pretty little town, and now very quiet without all the traffic pounding through, and with lots of camping grounds.    It is a popular area for tourists, who wish to enjoy walking, climbing and water sports, and to enjoy the beautiful scenery consisting of rugged hills and deep valleys.   The whole Aveyron area is also rich in history. 

So we chose Camping Des 2 Rivieries.     

 A truly beautiful spot.    And the sun was shining too.

 So we quickly got out our table and chairs, and a bottle of wine, intending to spend a lovely evening relaxing outside.   But alas the clouds came over, and down came the rain.   And it rained all night.    Brian and Susanne had rain pattering on their roof for their last night in the tent.

 The river Tarn, flowing past the campsite.    Idyllic.  

 'In Flanders fields the poppies grow'.    I cannot remember the rest of the poem, but we certainly saw plenty of red poppies growing in Belgium, as well as Germany and in France.     Whole fields of them, but of course it was not possible to stop on a motorway or road to take pictures.    But I had plenty of chances to do so when we stopped beside the Millau Viaduct.  

 The Millau Viaduct, conceived by engineer, Michel Viriogeux, and designed by Lord Norman Foster, took three years to build.    It was opened in 2004.


It spans the Tarn Valley and as well as being a magnificent piece of engineering it is aesthetically in keeping with the environment.    It is elegant, airy and sleek.   

Before the viaduct opened, traffic had to wind down the side of the hill, through Millau, and then wind back up the hill on the other side of the valley.   Bumper to bumper in the summertime.

It is a great place to stop, for a cup of coffee at the Visitor's Centre, before walking up to the viewing point.    Of course it was raining when we were there, but that did not detract from the magnificence of the bridge.